Dirty Little Thunderstorm
This for my dear friend @Handfull1
"Ew, I could never fart in front of my man." Girl, what? Crop dusting is my love language. My best friend's been married for five years and she's never let one rip in front of her man.
Meanwhile, he has no problem farting in front of her. You mean to tell me he's over here releasing the Kraken while you're clenching your cheeks for dear life? Like, one wrong sneeze and it's DEFCON 1? Uh-uh. Girl, if you are willing to risk internal combustion so you can continue living a lie that you are some dainty little flower that smells like rose water and modesty, you're doing yourself a disservice 'cause eventually, the illusion dies, and it dies hard.
There comes a moment in every relationship where Netflix and Chill becomes Taco Bell and Consequences. Out of nowhere, that fart just seeps out. You didn't even feel it. It just escaped and you're just sitting there in a fog like, "Did someone just burn toast?" You just blew that man's eyebrows off.
And your man turns to you and he's got the look of betrayal on his face. Look him dead in the eye and say, "Yeah, Dale, that was me. And I'd do it again." Put some respect on your digestive system, ladies. Come on. 'Cause if you want equality in your relationship, your booty should have the same freedom of expression as his does.
Here's the thing. Men do it with no shame. They'll be in bed, lift the cheek, smile, then rate it. Like, "Ha ha, do you hear that, babe? That one had some bass."
But when we do it, suddenly it's a crime against humanity. Sir, if I can handle your morning breath and emotional unavailability, you can handle my air biscuit. Told my best friend, "If your man can't handle your fart, he is not your soulmate. He's just another dude who has never smelled a real woman after downing a Nacho Bell grande." I said, "Girl, just try it. Let it rip in front of your man." It's a test, 'cause if he flinches, he's weak. If he laughs, he's the one.
Remember, real love isn't about romance, it's about resilience. It's knowing that even after you blast one, that man is gonna come up, smack your booty, and whisper in your ear, "Mm-hmm, now that's my dirty little thunderstorm."
"Ew, I could never fart in front of my man." Girl, what? Crop dusting is my love language. My best friend's been married for five years and she's never let one rip in front of her man.
Meanwhile, he has no problem farting in front of her. You mean to tell me he's over here releasing the Kraken while you're clenching your cheeks for dear life? Like, one wrong sneeze and it's DEFCON 1? Uh-uh. Girl, if you are willing to risk internal combustion so you can continue living a lie that you are some dainty little flower that smells like rose water and modesty, you're doing yourself a disservice 'cause eventually, the illusion dies, and it dies hard.
There comes a moment in every relationship where Netflix and Chill becomes Taco Bell and Consequences. Out of nowhere, that fart just seeps out. You didn't even feel it. It just escaped and you're just sitting there in a fog like, "Did someone just burn toast?" You just blew that man's eyebrows off.
And your man turns to you and he's got the look of betrayal on his face. Look him dead in the eye and say, "Yeah, Dale, that was me. And I'd do it again." Put some respect on your digestive system, ladies. Come on. 'Cause if you want equality in your relationship, your booty should have the same freedom of expression as his does.
Here's the thing. Men do it with no shame. They'll be in bed, lift the cheek, smile, then rate it. Like, "Ha ha, do you hear that, babe? That one had some bass."
But when we do it, suddenly it's a crime against humanity. Sir, if I can handle your morning breath and emotional unavailability, you can handle my air biscuit. Told my best friend, "If your man can't handle your fart, he is not your soulmate. He's just another dude who has never smelled a real woman after downing a Nacho Bell grande." I said, "Girl, just try it. Let it rip in front of your man." It's a test, 'cause if he flinches, he's weak. If he laughs, he's the one.
Remember, real love isn't about romance, it's about resilience. It's knowing that even after you blast one, that man is gonna come up, smack your booty, and whisper in your ear, "Mm-hmm, now that's my dirty little thunderstorm."
