Flatulicious

Story Sent in by Dara:

Ken and I met online and were out to dinner together on a first date. He was a healthy eater: it took him less than a minute to plow through half of his sole and mashed potatoes. Then, he looked up at me and said, "I'm gassy."

It was a foolhardy thing to say, but he mentioned it as if it was an average conversation topic, so I rolled with it. "Don't worry about it. I'm gassy in the mornings."

He fixed his attention right onto me. It was as if I had told him that I knew the precise date and time that he was going to die. "Really?" he asked, "Tell me about it."

I said, "It's nothing really that interesting. I wake up, do a few things, then feel better. I think it's normal, any time of day."

"What things?"

"Uh, going to the bathroom."

He stared like he didn't quite understand. He asked, "How does being in a different room make you less gassy?"

The conversation was wearing on me, and I said, "You know what you do in a bathroom. Once I'm done in there and have had some breakfast, I feel better. Case closed."

"Oh!" he said, "Peeing and poo-pooing." He giggled like a little girl.

The way he said it was funny, and so I laughed a bit, myself. He went on, "I love both of those. We sure are blessed."

I nodded. "We are." I ate more of my chicken Caesar.

Not long after that, he leaned across the table and asked, "What's it feel like when you crap?"

I pushed my plate away from myself and said, "Can we move on to a different subject?"

He pointed to my salad and said, "That'll be poop in just a few hours. You're just eating it now. Pre-poop."

"I just want to talk about something else," I said.

"Okay," he said, "Let's talk about…" and went back to his meal.

We didn't talk for the rest of dinner. He paid the check, and before we even left the restaurant, he gave me a huge hug, said, "Night night," and hurried away.