Two weeks. That is how long Jeremie and I had been dating when I took him on a vacation to Arizona. It is also how quickly our whole relationship changed forever. The dreaded first fart.
I will have you all know that he claims this is when he knew he loved me. I don’t care for this part. When someone wants to hear our love story and they ask how and when he knew, “the first time she farted” isn’t the answer I want him telling people.
It was an accident! I can’t handle the hot Arizona sun with margaritas and beer to top it off, so we were having a little cat nap in the afternoon. To cut to the chase, nap time is over when someone (me) farts and wakes both of us up. I wasn’t sure who the culprit was, but I was praying to God it wasn’t me. In my defence, I had held them in for two weeks straight while Jer and I spent every moment together because it was a new relationship and I was busy being perfect for him. A little booze and a nap can really loosen a girl up, especially her butt cheeks.
I died in that moment, but the guy married me so it must have smelled like roses or something. I’m glad he decided he loved me then because the same thing happened a few days later when we returned home.
