Gender Equality in the Manufacturing of Methane
I recently wrote a column asking the president to do what he could to hurry up the Equal Rights Amendment, and it is my fervent hope that the ERA becomes the law of the land. But what about gender equality in the home?
I know it’s not nice so speak ill of the dead, but my darling husband held a high degree from the School of Advanced Phartology. This, apparently, entitled him to flaunt his phartological skills in any setting he so desired. Like the grocery store. (I know, I know. This is like telling a tale behind his back. But I warned him what was to come if he kicked the pail before me!)
I’m ahead of myself. Let me back up to when we were courting. I remember, distinctly, my lovestruck date apologizing for breaking wind in front of me. Of course, I was so lovestruck, I hadn’t noticed. All the same, it was refreshing to have a man apologize for it. I grew up with a father who seemed to think we should applaud his performance rather than expect an apology. And therein lay the lesson: Males could pass gas freely. Females were to be disturbed by this phenomenon, regardless of who was doing it.
My darling’s apologies for bodily functions stopped after the honeymoon (which was the evening show at our local movie theater). Soon after that, I found myself hissing at him through clenched teeth, “You’re embarrassing me!” while we were shopping. Over time, his little outbursts became more audible. I would poke him with my elbow and whisper, “Stop it!”
Shame on me! He was just performing a normal and necessary bodily function. I once read a sign in a medical clinic (on a receptionist’s desk) warning that holding in farts can make your brain explode. I didn’t really want his brain to explode! I was just following the gender code.
In fact, for the first thirty years of our marriage, I made every effort to hold in all gaseous substances, no matter the strain, until I was alone. It was not “ladylike” to do otherwise. Yet I had to endure the profound projection of phartological symphonies while in my dad’s company, and then again in marriage. There was rarely an “excuse me,” or even an acknowledgement that such an interlude might be offensive to the auditory or olfactory systems. Life simply carried on as if nothing had happened.
Finally I got it through my head that this is a natural occurrence. It was I who had the problem by not accepting what is normal to all humans. So, I began to let loose in front of my husband, the person I trusted most on the whole planet. Only to get mocked and teased.
There had been a double standard all along. It was okay for him to secrete toxic fumes in the grocery store, but somehow abnormal for me to boldly embrace the human exercise in the privacy of my own bedroom, in the company of my life partner. I should hold my tongue if he naturally expresses himself, but I dare not match his manly expression.
I don’t believe this double standard is peculiar to my family. So, I say to all women who have been endangering their brains: We have been “ladylike” long enough! If we are to have true equality, we must manufacture methane as needed, and let the fumes fly. Without apology.