I didn’t sleep very well last night. I fell asleep with the light on, had weird dreams, woke up to turn out the light and then slept very lightly the rest of the night. Lightly enough that around 4:30am I was awoken suddenly by a loud noise in the night.
I jumped pretty badly when I woke up, heart pounding. I didn’t know what the noise was and I paused to listen to see if I heard it again in case it was just another dream. The noise sounded like a wet plop, like some dead rotting thing hitting pavement, but couldn’t figure out what in our bedroom it could be. I thought I might be going crazy, or that I had indeed dreamed it.
After a moment I got up, used the bathroom, and when I came back to bed Ron asked if everything was okay. I explained about the noise and that’s when he told me what I had heard. My dear husband had farted.
I have been awake since.
Apparently this is not a new phenomenon. I am usually a pretty sound sleeper, once I actually get to sleep that is. Before now I have slept through these nightly orchestral maneuvers in the dark. I am doing my darnedest to stay awake right now to make sure I do not wake up prematurely due to this nightly chorus of angels.
However tired I am though, farts are always funny. ALWAYS. It’s a universal truth. If you don’t think farts are funny, well, then I don’t think we can ever be friends.