Poof.

It was one of the more embarrassing moments of my life.

Caught up in the middle of a tickling match (and no, that is not a euphemism for something else), I did what I feared I would someday do: I tooted.

*gasp

No! She didn’t.

Yes! I did.

But it wasn’t just the tootle, oh no. It was who I tooted in front of, which just so happened to be the gem that I’m dating.

Yeahhhh.

Let me back things up for you.

We had just driven home from a lovely dinner in Cooper Landing. After having wined and dined out on the patio of Kenai Lake, we started the drive home, which is when I felt my stomach cramping.

Crouched over with stinging pains, I voiced my predictions. It could be one of two things:

1.) I had to pee. A whole bottle of wine can do that to you.

2.) I had gas buildup.

And I knew what it really was; begrudgingly, the latter.

I had been holding them in all day.

(we’re talking about the same woman who didn’t once go you-know-what for three days whilst staying the weekend with a guy)

When we got to my house, I immediately went to the bathroom to expel these poofs and then we started doing what young frisky couples do:

We engaged in a rigorously handsy, passionate tickling war.

And right smack in the middle of my total domination, he pulled me over and I let loose what I had been restraining all day.

Loud and proud it came tumbling out and in that horrific instant, I froze.

He erupted in laughter, and feeling awkward, I joined him. What else could I do? Pretty quick though, those chortles turned into crying.

With tears in my eyes, I pulled a pink blanket up and over my head to hide in the embarrassment.

“Oh nooooo,” he said, gingerly trying to pull the blanket away and see me.

But I stayed hidden, tears cascading down my cheeks as feelings of humiliation and shame came flooding in.

No matter what he tried, I couldn’t escape the torrent of self-deprecating thoughts now overwhelming me.

At some point, the blanket was pulled away, to which I got up, adjusted my clothes, and told him, “I have to go.”

Looking back now, I know, soooo dramatic, but in that moment, I was beyond embarrassed and wanted nothing more than to disappear and wallow in my indignity.

Although, that was kind of too late.

There’s no hiding in my home.

He soon found me cooped up in my closet, arms wrapped tenderly around my knees, tears still flowing.

Kneeling beside me, he put an arm behind my back and assured me again that it was okay.

“I don’t like you any less because of it,” he chuckled.

And I knew, deep down, that it was all okay.

Tooting is natural, everyone does it. I mean everyone does it. Even girls, who are indoctrinated at a young age that tooting isn’t ladylike and therefore forbidden and unacceptable to do in the presence of others.

Tooting is a normal body function and even though previous reactions to doing it in front of men has been negative for me, labeled “disgusting”, I should’ve known that the only person in that situation who would ever judge me for it wouldn’t be him, but me.

(and I totally started judging myself)

And God forbid I broke the oh-so-sacred rule of being human.

I just felt embarrassed that it happened in an intimate moment.

Giggling about it now, I look back on the incident and actually feel gratitude.

I broke this barrier of farting in front of my date, a barrier I’d previously put up between me and the guy I was seeing at the time.

He’s seen me now, fully. Toots, tears, and all.

And when it happens the next time (for it will happen again), feelings of embarrassment and shame will (hopefully) go…

poof.