I sharted at the party last night and went home pronto to change my clothes. - Urban dictionary.
To shart is uncomfortable but to shart in public is just terribly unfortunate. Worse is sharting infront of someone. Even worse is sharting infront of someone you are dating. Worse yet is sharting whilst vomiting in front of someone you are dating. Though technically, if you are vomiting you are not intending to fart silently therefore it can not be seen as a true shart, but for the purposes of this article lets just class those vomit sharts as sharts none the less.
Almost 10 years ago, I had been dating The Lover-Man for about three months when my parents surprised me with a trip to Holland to see my extended family. Lover-Man and I were pretty inseparable at this stage. It sounds ridiculous and cheesy but I knew he was The One pretty early on. But I discovered that the true test of True Love is really pretty simple. Sharting. If someone can witness you unintentionally shit in your pants and still like you, love you even and still want to have sex with you, they are The One. Hang up your thong, you're done.
We were in a tiny Volkswagon Transporter the first time I sharted. We'd had a few glasses of wine the night before in a small town in Holland. We were now camped in an even smaller town when I started to feel a little green. After wallowing on our hard foam mattress for hours I felt the unmistakable feeling of vomit rising in my throat. I made for the bucket just in time and released the contents of my insides. Though I hadn't expected the other end to join in. I was perched on our bed on our only clean sheet, in such a way that when I sharted it sprayed everywhere. It slipped straight through my pajama pants like runny pudding through a sieve. With vomit all over my chin I looked up at Lover-man fearing the worst. He just looked down at me sympathetically and said "tomorrow, we burn that sheet". It was at that point that I knew he was a keeper.
I wish I could say that that was the last time I sharted. Ever. But I can't. I sharted my way around Europe. Some people work their way around Europe. Me? I shart. There was sharting in Spain. Sharting in Italy and mega sharting in France. The good part about France was that I got to witness Lover-Man shart too. I think that was the real test. I already knew that he still loved me after he watched me shart, but what if I saw him shart and got grossed out? That wouldn't work at all. Luckily when he sharted I just laughed. It was pretty hilarious. And to be honest his was the first genuine shart of the whole trip. He was buttering toast when he dared trust a fart. He thought he could silently slip one out but he was wrong. After all my sharting next to him, he must have picked up a bug. All of a sudden he gasped and clutched his pants. He put down the knife and muttered "I just sharted!" he was genuinely shocked as if by now sharting was exclusively my thing. He waddled awkardly to the ablution block while I followed behind him with a towel and a change of clothes, still laughing. One thing about sharting: it is way funnier when someone else does it!
After 10 years together and two small children, sharting has pretty much become our lives. Childbirth. Toilet training. Vomit bugs. All of these are prime sharting experiences. On average we get three spewfest vomit bugs a year. That's four people sharting in one house for at least 24 hours. When the kids were little they'd shart so hard it would hit the wall. Sometimes they still shart. It's not pretty. But excepting it and cleaning it up is love.
Sharting is love.