Would you please tell me what the dinky heck is with all the farting after 60?
I’ve always farted, and so have you. We all fart.
But since I turned 60, man, the farts just come out no matter what. I used to be able to pretty much control them, to hold them back and then let loose when the time and place was more amenable to such activities.
But now, it’s like if I even think about farting, bbbbwwwaaaappp!
And the walking farts. Seriously? I’ve blown over parking meters, which is fine because I don’t like them anyway, but still.
I can feel a fart coming on as I’m nearing a door to the outside, and I can almost make it. Almost. But nope, just as the door is swinging shut, just as I’m about to escape without being heard, out it comes — blloommfft — leaving a 37-foot stank trail and people inside wondering whether I might need new pants.
It’s just abominable.
Then again, I’m “old.” I fart. So what?
Now, that’s what aging’s all about, baby!
