Kick Boxing Air Freshener

Let me let you in on a little secret.

I am wildly immature for my age and wear it like a badge. I have a difficult time keeping a straight face when in situations that suggest to keep a low profile. It's something I can do very little to control. So when the guy diagonal from me let out the loudest fart known to mankind, I laughed like the tickle monster was stuck in my clothing.

What made matters worse was the jackass that was sitting next to me. This chick couldn't control herself. She was trying so hard to stifle her laugh that I was afraid she would let one loose as well. She was doing me no favors.  The more she laughed, the harder I did and I have a very contagious chuckle that manifests itself into laughing gas for unassuming people near me. This was a problem.

I swear that people were taking deeper breaths than they were before.  Apparently farting was encouraged during kickboxing class because these people were inhaling the shit out of the air in the room. When did farting become a natural air cleaner? What was going on?  And since when did flatulence become unfunny? Trust me, I'm a kind-hearted person so my intentions are not malicious here, but if I was the one that ripped one loud enough to vibrate the floorboards I would be leading the laugh brigade. I suddenly regretted not eating beans before class. I would have fit right in. The class was proving to be ridiculously harder than I had anticipated, but if farting would have given me an edge over my sparring competition, I could sacrifice my dignity for a few fleeting minutes.

Then it happened....again! A large ass-belch quivered across the floor followed by a resounding "aah," escaping the Gasman's lips. He was really relaxing into those stretches man. Read that again. Not a large-ass, belch. I said large ass-belch.  I am talking about a large toot that leaves your ass so quickly that you, as a human,  are just as surprised that it came out of your hiney as the people are around you. It's the kind of fart that makes your eyes open wide in disbelief.

Tears started streaming down my face and my body was shaking like a leaf in heat while I held onto my mat for dear life and hoped beyond hope that being in the back row would hide me and the sorry excuse for an adult who was cackling next to me. It should come as no surprise to you that the laughing hyena beside me was my best friend. And believe me, trying to stifle your laugh while one of your best girl's is also losing it, is like trying to fix an atomic wedgie. Your ass has already been set free so you may as well embrace the open air hitting your unmentionables. The problem was however, no one else seemed to have gotten the atomic wedgie memo.

I was nearly flat on my mat praying for the devil to stop poking me when the kickboxing instructor suddenly appeared from behind us like Yoda, "Do you ladies need help with your stretches?" On first glance, he didn't look very pleased. On second glance, I could see a laugh dying to come out. I tried to will him over to the dark side, but all that came out was a wink. Great, now I was hitting on our instructor. Imagining what I must have looked like winking at him -  awkward, sweating and nostrils flaring -  sent me into complete laugh submission.  If I didn't get out of that room, I was surely going to wet my pants. Seeing me in this state made Corinne do what she has done since we were teenagers. She held her hand up and put her face in the other direction. As if that would stop her from unraveling with me!

Somehow we managed to compose ourselves long enough to start partner sit-ups. This entailed Corinne and I holding each other's feet and counting while the other completed her set. This was just about the last exercise Corinne and I should have been asked to do, but by the grace of God we finished it and were ready to begin class. Yes, I said begin class.

If there is one thing I learned through this story, it is that Karma exists. Never in my life have I been someone who toots on command, nor have I been one to really pass gas in general. I mean when I was eight years old I did blow a hole in my dance tights while with one of my other besties (Allison, you knew this had to make it in here), but never as an adult have I been a person to fart freely. And then it happened.

Let's just say it was one of those moments where it came out so fast that I was rendered powerless and instantly reacted to it like I had dropped a pile of papers on the floor, which caused an "Oops, excuse me," to escape my lips. I mean, did I have to say oops? I immediately picture an old librarian farting dust off a stack of books. Sheesh. No one that was standing near me in the office reacted to it so I have to assume no one heard it... for my own sanity.

The minute I started recounting the story to my father, he started laughing which made me realize who I got my contagious laugh from. See, I laugh at my own bottom burps, people.... That's normal!



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