An Alert for the guys: This post contains intimate details involving feminine hygiene products so if you are squeamish about these sorts of things you might want to stop reading now. AND I will go ahead now and apologize to my son Ben who will no doubt be embarrassed by me yet again, but I believe he is kind of used to it by now. He has lived with me for 26 years.
It seems each time I write another tale about farts and/or poop someone I know will remind me of another time I had a similar experience, (I told you this was only the tip of the iceberg) so I am trying to write them all down before I’m too old to remember. You know those memories are precious and should be preserved. However, I have decided to take a break from regaling you with my memoirs of pooping and farts (for a short while because I have more) and am switching gears to a more sophisticated subject…Maxi Pads.
One of my oldest and dearest friends Diana reminded me of a story I had all but forgotten. It seems we were in high school at the time (you see these kinds of things have been happening to me just about my whole life) and we were at McDonald’s on the Belt Highway. It was THE place to hang out on a Saturday night. We would park our cars in the parking lot of the movie theater next door, all in a row facing the Belt and then sit out on the hoods of our cars waving to the passersby which were mostly other teenagers cruising the Belt and drinking a six-pack that someone bought with their sister’s I.D. (it was a different time.) Most adults would avoid that part of the Belt Highway on a Saturday night and go down a side street to avoid having their nerves completely shattered by a sixteen year old boy in his souped up GTO. Everybody who was anybody was there on Saturdays and so of course were we. Now I must set the scene…you youngsters will not be able to relate, but it can serve as a history lesson in the evolution of feminine hygiene.
This was back in the dark ages before tampons. The latest thing was MAXI PADS. Yes, a wonderful miracle of modern science. No longer did a young miss have to struggle with the dreaded garter belt to attach a sanitary pad to her body. These new fangled things had a line of sticky stuff on the back and you could attach them right to your underpants! It was great. You would just rip off the paper strip on the back, stick it to your underwear and after a few times of getting it too far forward or too far back, you would get the hang of it and off you would go. This phenomenon came right on the heels of another modern convenience, pantyhose. Goodbye garter belts. Hello Women’s Lib. What would they think of next?
Back to the story…I’m standing at the counter in McDonald’s next to my friend Diana. I have ordered my Quarter pounder with cheese (another new invention). I dig into my purse, pull out my new suede billfold with the green and red stripe down the middle, opened up the flap and was standing there resting my wallet on the counter, the front facing me and the back of my wallet was facing the workers behind the counter. I was patiently waiting for the girl to tell me what my total was so that I could pay and I noticed that she was staring at my wallet. I thought she was probably admiring it because it was really stunning and that she was going to say something like “I really like your billfold. Where did you get it?” Then I noticed some boys in the back who had been alerted by some of the girls in the front and they were all looking at my wallet. They started to chuckle. The girl at the register was kind enough to point at my wallet and say, “I think you need to take a look at the back of your wallet.” I turned it over and to my horror, stuck there to the back of my wallet was …you guessed it…a Maxi Pad! Apparently when you leave them in your purse too long the paper strip comes off the back and then the pad is free to stick onto anything in the vicinity and in this case it was my wallet. By now everyone behind the counter is roaring with laughter. I said, “Oh, my God.” And showed it to Diana who got so choked up with the amusing aspect of the situation that she couldn’t speak. We laughed so hard that no sound came out for a few minutes and then continued on until we finally had to stop because our sides were cramping. I mean really what can you do at that point? I was seventeen and used to it by this time. It wasn’t long after this that the use of tampons became widespread. I have stories about those too, but I’ll save it for later…..your welcome.
This week I have received many comments about my fart story and I’ve had to say it’s only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to stories that somehow involve my colon and a good fart story… Like once during a gynecological exam, but I won’t go into that now (You’re welcome). I realize that my foray into fart stories threatens to lower my intellectual tone and with this in mind I am forging ahead. One story in particular that was clearly the fault of one, who shall not remain nameless, because it was Linda Vanderwerken who introduced me to the nefarious FiberOne bars. Oh ye bar of wonder that doth possess nine, yes 9 grams of fiber and only 140 calories per bar. Linda and I had somehow gotten off on a discussion about pooping (not a stretch for those of you who know me at all or Linda for that matter) and I was looking at a fiber chart to try and figure out a more tasty way to get some extra fiber in my diet without having to eat things like cardboard. Things that would require very little effort on my part (like having to cook or something). “Here, she said, try this. It really tastes good and has lots of fiber.” And knowing Linda like I do, I was suspicious, “Why if it’s so delicious, don’t you eat it? I asked.” She said that she had tried to eat them, but they made her fart like crazy so she stopped at the request of her entire family and a few John Glenn staff members. Well, being a person of experimental bent who is always up for an adventure with a stomach of iron and very impressive sphincter control, I decided to give it a whirl. I said, “Oh it won’t bother me,” and grabbed the Fiber One bar from her hand as I trotted off down the hall. I tried it and she was right, it was quite tasty so, I went to Hy-Vee and bought some in every flavor. I started downing about two a day – nine grams of fiber each – I thought I’d hit the fiber jackpot. About three days into this new routine I was teaching a sixth grade art class. I was writing something on the board when all of a sudden with absolutely no warning at all, just out of nowhere I swear came an air biscuit that sounded kind of like a very loud dying weed eater. (Please forgive my acoustical analysis) There was not a soul in the room who missed it and there was total silence. The kids were transfixed…what was that noise? Did Miss Murphy really just fart? There I stood, still with my back to the class, eyes as big as saucers, like the proverbial cat who ate the canary. This was my defining moment. My reputation hung on what I did next. This had never happened to me, ever. I mean usually there is some warning. You feel it coming on…a little gas pain or something to let you know that you have a fart on deck. Then you let it out as slowly and quietly as you can while disguising it with other noises. I won’t get too into it, but this is why you should always carry an air horn or one of those wooden whistles that mimic the sound of a choochoo train. Trust me…I’m a professional. Anyway, the silence was finally broken by a kid who said, “Geez, Miss Murphy that was a good one.” This comment actually made me feel kind of proud and I could see my way out now. I decided to own it. I turned around and bowed, then I curtsied. The kids started clapping. I curtsied some more, first to the right and then to the left, I did the beauty queen wave and said, “Thank you. Thank you. I’m glad you appreciated it. That was just for you.” More comments were bandied about – “That was impressive Miss Murphy.” “Way to go Miss Murphy.” A star was born.
Left the house this morning without my skirt on, just wool tights, a sweater and hiking boots… glad I realized it before I got too far. Standing on the porch I thought it felt rather chilly as I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection on the glass in the storm door. I looked really stupid standing there in basically panty hose, a sweater and yes, hiking boots (it’s very cold in the Art room at Amazonia) —A great way to start the day with a good laugh. I laughed until I cried. It was great.
Today after school I went into the teacher’s lounge to use the bathroom in there. There were two nice looking guys there crawling around working on some furnace problems. I thought no biggie I just had to return the 20 ounce Diet Dr. Pepper I drank this afternoon back to nature from whence it came. So in the bathroom I went. I was sitting in there doing my thing when I began to experience some gastrointestinal disturbance and due to circumstances beyond my control I had a bit of a flatulent episode that was NOT demure. I was afraid the furnace guys heard which was confirmed by their snickering when I opened the door and walked out. I could not look at them. I just slinked away.