The Cello

My parents are shocked at our Facebook/Twitter/Blog generation who tell the world all that is private and no longer keep anything sacred.  I say, meh, things in life are funny and ridiculous and if I can make my friends laugh behind their desks on Monday mornings than so be it.  

This will be one of those TMI entries. 

Before I was ever in a long-term relationship, I used to worry, actually worry about the day in which I would be in a long-term relationship, sharing close quarters with a man, and have gas.

THAT is what I worried about!  Not meeting him, or getting along, or believing in fundamental issues. No.  I actually worried about what happened on those days that I had bad gas.

Before the Engineer I never spoke about breaking wind, or doing a number two (aaack - the shame!) or any bodily function.  The idea of ever doing these things in the vicinity of a BF was beyond me.  I would run down to the gym in my building, or make the guy go get me a Starbucks, or hold it all in for a week (this is what led to my hospitalization in 1998).

So you can imagine that getting comfy with Engineer may have taken a while. Ummm, nope. On our second date, I got the flu. Like really really bad.  So bad that the Engineer finally had to take me to the doctor for a shot of penicillin.  It was a late-night clinic near a drug store and they had run out of the shot.  The doctor asked the Engineer to run to the drug store, and get the shot she would call in. As he was leaving the clinic she yelled, actually yelled, after him to also pick up some Imodium to stop my diarrhea.  I think that was the end of my 'delicate flower no bodily functions' charade.

It's sort of gone downhill ever since.  It's been very liberating actually.  No longer do I feel the horror of bloating, I can let it pass and not worry that the Engineer is going to judge me.  

Not that he likes it.  But he does put up with it.  And it makes him laugh.  He has a sort of annoying habit of imitating the noise after the incident.  But I suppose me letting one go is also annoying.  I think he takes a secret thrill in getting the pitch just right.

We were at friends the other day for a BBQ, and they have a cello.  The Engineer thought it would be funny to play me a song on the cello.  A song of my farts.  And that is when he proceeded to play different notes to the hysterical laughter of my friends as he described the unfortunate noises I can produce.  

That's when I thought, 'the romance is officially dead'.  My question?  How do I go back to a level of secrecy and demure feminine behaviour after my boyfriend has played the songs of my toots for a BBQ audience?