Farting in the post office

I farted in the post office the other day. It made me glad to be old. When you have a wrinkled exterior people expect less of you and farting in the post office is pretty much living up to expectations. For me, it was one of those OMG did I really do that? moments, followed closely by a check to see who was within range. There was not a single person I could turn to and sniff at as though this noise had nothing to do with me. So I carried on checking out the envelopes for sale and made sure those buttock cheeks were rigid. I blame the incident entirely on Michael Moseley and his enthusiastic promotion of all things fermented. I’ve been scarfing yoghurt and kombucha and adding sauerkraut to liven things up a bit, and you can’t be doing one without expecting the other. But with the recent proliferation of vegans and paelo’s and all things green I can’t be the only one. It’s not like ten years ago when the only place you could go to let a wee one off in the supermarket was the vegetarian aisle. a) because it was usually devoid of patronage and b) if there did happen to be someone reaching for the brown rice who recognised the strangled look on your face, he/she was just as likely to toss back the dreads and join you as an act of solidarity. In the spirit of that and to help keep a healthy distance from non-believers, I reckon there’s a market out there for signage. Something we could stick on the handbag that reads, ‘Healthy fermentation in Progress’ or more simply, a borrowed version of the sign off the back of the milk tankers – ‘This body farts often.’ In these days of two meter separation it could be a life saver. But I suspect there are experts out there saying a mask is all you need for protection. Well hello? 

 


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