During lunch at work, I made the unfortunate decision to eat three plates of beans. When I got home, my husband greeted me with excitement and said, “Darling, I have a surprise for dinner tonight.” He blindfolded me and led me to my chair at the dinner table. Just as he was about to remove the blindfold, the telephone rang. He asked me not to peek and left to answer the call.
The beans I had consumed started to take effect, and the pressure became unbearable. Seizing the moment, I shifted my weight to one leg and released a loud one that “smelled like a fertilizer truck running over a skunk.” I quickly grabbed my napkin and fanned the air around me, trying to dispel the odor. Feeling somewhat relieved, I shifted to the other leg and discreetly let out three more, each one worse than the last. The stink was “worse than cooked cabbage.”
Keeping my ears tuned to the conversation in the other room, I continued to release gas for a few more minutes, savoring the relief. When I heard the phone call wrapping up, I quickly fanned the air one last time, placed the napkin back on my lap, and folded my hands, trying to look innocent.
My husband returned, apologizing for the delay, and asked if I had peeked. I assured him I hadn’t. With a smile, he removed the blindfold, and to my horror, I found twelve dinner guests seated around the table, all with their hands over their noses, as they chorused, “Happy Birthday!”
