A public passing of gas

The girl next to me on the bus this morning passed gas, spreading a smell so horrid that I think she herself made a stank face. In order to suppress my instinctual reaction, I thought of why we are repulsed by human odors, which are natural (sweat, breath, and, well, the current subject matter) but are turned on by other scents such as foods, herbs and flowers.

What if we fancied the smell of poop instead of lilacs or your mom's apple crisp? We would be attracted farting culprits, maybe even congratulate them for their sweet-smelling brew and take big whiffs.  Instead of saying, "Hey babe, you look great in that skirt," it would be, "Your scent is flavorful and unique.  Did you have cheese and mushroom omelet for breakfast?" We would spritz these excretory odors on our necks to let its musk linger on our clothing and impress the opposite sex.  leaving a smelly bathroom behind would be a feat, not something to run from.

This is what helped me refrain from making an obscene funk face on the bus this morning.  Meanwhile, the other passengers probably thought I was the guilty one for gazing out the window with a slight grin (in AnnieLand as usual, pondering an opposite-day-dream) as my neighbor pinched her nose out of embarrassment for her body's ability to concoct such a powerful stench.

Although she and I know the truth of who released today's lingering bus beast, let's just say I look forward to walking to school tomorrow.

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