Everyone Farts. (Elephant Journal Article 10/10)

The “Toot” of Commonality That Connects Us All.

I had a really rough morning. Like, super rough.

I have been having some health issues, which can sometimes be unsettling, particularly when you’re at “that age” when you start thinking about age and most specifically, sometimes counting out loud the number of hypothetical years you may have left on the planet.

Needless to say, I have found myself in the care of a cardiologist, which, is a very unsettling prospect no matter what the age. It first left me in one of those whole-body, super tense sort of moods. So, there I sat in my cardiologists office—in the snootiest, most “upscale” part of town where everyone takes such great pride in showing how awfully, well-mannered they are in even the most extreme social settings and situations. It was the very last place on this Earth I had wanted to be when feeling in such an awful frump.
As I got settled in, I noticed that the “delightful” couple sitting next to me was obviously mid-squabble, and although I couldn’t hear the details of the upset, I could tell it must have been something noteworthy because the wife was still giving her husband the, “How can I cause your death, and not ever get caught?” questioning scowl.

The hubby just hung his head with that, “How many more years before I die?” tortured look of desperation on his face.

I felt really bad for the fella because he was filling out the new patient questionnaire, and though I would never dare to offer my medical opinion in an area that is most certainly not an area I should be offering my medical opinion, I will say that I could already see perhaps the source of his stress and upset.
I don’t think he actually needed a cardiologist. A lawyer maybe, but not a cardiologist.
But I digress.

At one point, and still carrying the energy of the earlier upset, the wife muttered something not so very nice and something which I shall not ever repeat. Her husband continued quietly filling out his questionnaire, causing yet even more upset for the distraught wife. And, in an act indicating that she had just about reached the end of her “tolerance rope”—she drew in one of those very long, “I’m about to say something quite lengthy and most certainly involving my feelings” sort of breaths.

Sensing this most imminent attack, and in an attempt to, I believe, thwart said attack, this fine gentleman dropped his pen and clipboard to the floor directly to the front of him. In retrospect, I believe the clipboard and pen to have been thrown rather than dropped, but this may be the army girl in me constructing a much more sophisticated strategy where it ought not be necessary. Sometimes the dropping of a pen and clipboard is simply the dropping of a pen and clipboard.

And then it happened.

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