A moving experience

The other night I was lying in bed with the wife, basking in the silence of all the children being in bed and asleep, when I farted. It was a strong, manly fart. I was impressed because the force of it made the sleep number bed tremble. My wife did not appreciate it, and let me know of her displeasure. I retorted that it was indeed a good one, and I had raised my hand, as is the custom in my house (Be proud! Take ownership of your work!). She feels we have been married a bit too long if this sort of thing is now acceptable in my mind. Now? When was it not acceptable? Oh, sure, when we first started dating I would make a token effort to mute them, but as any man knows, this always produces some sort of strained facial expression that always gets noticed, and then some long dramatic discussion ensues about my feelings, or her feelings, or some other crap. It's just better to let 'em fly. And raise your hand! Be proud of your work! My wife thinks I am a pig.

Tonite, sitting on the sofa watching TV, she let one go. And then, before she could think about it, she raised her hand. Talk about the influence of environment. She is one of us. Deep down inside, we are all pretty much the same.

Oink.