A Bump in the Night

For anyone who is keeping track, I still haven't figured out what's wrong with my gut. And it still hasn't gone away. The latest installment of grief coming from that area is incessant gas throughout the night. This condition comes and goes, and I haven't really been able to pin point its triggers. Luckily, I live alone with ceiling fans.

The other night, feeling fairly well, I decided to stay over at the boyfriend's place instead of making the trek home after watching a Twins game that went extra innings. At about 3:30, I awoke with a start at the sound of my own ass letting loose. In these situations, I usually like to play it cool. Pretend nothing happened. But not only did the sound reverberate off the walls, it literally shook me out of sleep and my only option was to pretend that I was rolling over. D didn't move at first, and as the seconds ticked by, I thought I was in the clear. Then, with a sigh that signaled consciousness, he rolled the other way and returned to sleep. My Sex and The City nightmare come to life.

It was obvious to me that I had awoken us both, and it did not take long to realize that my rumble was only one of many to come. I spent the next hour and a half trying to alternately fall asleep and hold things in. Neither of which I did successfully. Finally, defeated, I grabbed my pillow and headed to the couch where I relieved myself, more than once, and slept like a baby for the remainder of the night.

Things could have ended there, but compelled as I am to discuss all embarrassing moments at great length (you know, clear the air . . . ahem), I brought up the incident only to learn that D had no I idea what I was talking about and had slept through all but the part where I shook him to say, "I'm going to sleep on the couch." I figure there are two possibilities here: a) he was lying to protect my dignity or b) he really didn't hear my quaking of the earth. Either way, we make a great match.