It's not just a punctuation mark

Okay, enough embarrassing confessions about my soul, etc. It's time I address a subject much nearer to my heart: my colon.

Normally, I don't think much about this part of my body. It does what it does. Shrug. But my husband seems to have realized he's spent seven of the best years of his life cohabitating with a large intestine -- not his own -- that functions, um, shall we say, less than optimally?

He thinks I have irritable bowel syndrome, or Crone's disease, or I'm lactose intolerant or maybe there's some weird, unexplained ailment that occurs in post-pregnant women, or in people who eat too much fiber, or not enough, or just what am I eating these days?

Now, if you ask me, there's nothing wrong. I feel fine. He still sent me a link, which I accidentally trashed, about a new drug that will hasten "intestinal transit time." Or slow it down, I don't remember. Sometimes I have one problem and sometimes the other. Mostly, though, I seem to contribute more than my personal share to LA's notorious air pollution.

This is not my fault. I like cheese and there's ice cream in my veins, so even though both my parents are/were lactose intolerant and several doctors have insisted I am lactose intolerant, I am in no way, shape or form unable to digest lactose. Lactose is good. Especially melted on toast, or smothered in chocolate sauce.

And I do not have an irritable bowel. Opinionated, maybe, but not irritable. Trouble is, that by the time it forcefully expresses its views on my diet, I have long since forgotten what I ate. And I don't keep track of the fiber content in veggie burgers or tofu, and I have no way of plotting "intestinal transit time" like it's a stop on the metro.

I'm not sure why I'm in high dudgeon about this, really. My husband is a fabulous human being, blessed with an exquisite sense of smell. If he'd married the woman he deserved, he'd be swirling a brandy snifter under that handsome, Semitic probiscus or burying it in the softly perfumed nape of her neck.

Instead, he crinkles it, makes a face and retreats to a better-ventilated part of the house. Or neighborhood. I know he deserves better, but I hate soy ice cream. Have you ever tried it? Or soy cheese? I mean, honestly, what's a few undigested enzymes between lovers?

There's a history here, naturally. I once emptied a dance floor at a party, and an entire train car, and you can't imagine how many public bathrooms. Mr. Dallas' seventh-grade math class was onto me, but everyone needed to cheat off my test papers, so they just gagged and passed notes about me and made the best of it.

I try very, very hard every day to keep my emissions to myself, unless I'm at home, where anything goes. Except I'm usually at home, so I've gotten a bit lax in this regard. Not Ex-Lax, mind you, just regular lax.

This has the bad result of teaching my son that farting and pooping are events that must be announced in a loud, proud voice.

Whatever the problem, I seemed to have passed it onto my daughter, who smells like she's decomposing. My husband tells people she's allergic to breast milk. She smiles blissfully. I grimace.

I am not sure why I'm telling the world this. Somewhere out there in the near future, some obsessive weirdo will be googling "Jewish boobs" and "fart" and will stumble onto my blog. I will make this person very happy. Isn't that reason enough?

In the meantime, I should get back to writing about poopy diapers or something more normal like that.

Comments

[plosh]

I suppose I should milk this post for all it's worth, but you have to admit it really is a gas.

[Jack]

IBS is a pain in the ass.

[Pearl]

Aren't you glad that you just let that all out!? (and even so, we didn't go runnin' for the hills...or the Lysol?)

[Anne]

Geez, what shitty things to say. I'm tired of this crap!

Okay, I'll stop now. Sorry.

Okay, now that I picked myself up from rolling on the floor with laughter, I would just like to say...brave is the woman who admits to such behavior...you are truly a man's man!

[cruisin-mom(Randi)]

oops, sorry, that last comment was from me.

[psychotoddler]

I think you've been spending too much time on Jack's blog.

[Doctor Bean]

This sounds like it should be fixable without major inconvenience. Have you tried Lactaid?

Nose plugs?

[Gooch]

I once emptied a dance floor at a party, and an entire train car, and you can't imagine how many public bathrooms.

Think I can borrow you the next time I need to go to the DMV?

[Anne]

Randi: Thanks! (belches smugly).

PT: Really? Someone else blogs about this besides me?

Dr. B: Oh sure, get all practical on me.

Gooch: Not to mention those long lines at the Post Office or the bank. Maybe I should rent myself out.

[Mir]

I was okay until I got to "... my daughter, who smells like she's decomposing." At that point, I may have snorted a little. Or a lot. Now THAT is a mother's love. ;)

[Doctor Bean]

I'd also like to note that you sprung this post after I invited you to lunch at our house! That's OK. The invitation stands. We'll eat in the back yard!!!

[Anne]

Mir: Welcome! Snorting is the one problem I don't seem to have. I'll have to work on that and get back to you.

Dr. B: Just don't serve dairy and I should be fine.

[Renee]

I could not stop laughing through this. Esp the decomposing bit. You still manage to come out smelling like roses.

[maggie]

this post is awesome! hahaha. i can relate because i used to have tons of dairy, but as i get older, i find my dairy tolerance level lowering (and i'm only in my mid-twenties)... yet, like you, I also love cheese and ice cream! i'm getting married in October, i hope my fiance's sense of smell isn't as keen as your husbands! hahaha. and your husband is right, you're quite funny. =)

[Ontario Emperor]

This is the test to identify your devoted readers. We're still here.

[plosh]

Why does everyone make such a stink about this post?

Sorry, couldn't resist.