Yes, I woke up. I do it every morning, surprisingly enough. Occasionally I do it in the afternoon, instead. AND, since Mr. T decided to give us more room by pushing our bed against the wall, I have to climb over him every morning to get out of bed. Why don’t we switch sides? Because the left side is my side, and it will always be my side!
Anyway, I (gracefully, as always) start climbing over him, which always wakes him up, so we’re talking and then...he farts on me. He’s all “ohmygoodness I didn’t know that was going to happy - I’m sorry!” Thanks to years of this kind of abuse, I remain relatively calm as I retreat back to my side of the bed to laugh at him. After that has passed (heh, “passed”), I again begin my journey across the bed, insulting his total lack of control over his own flatulence. Only to hear him say “Don’t stay there, or it’s going to happen aga-” pffffffffffffffftpb! Sweet. Lord.
I’m really starting to see the benefits of being in one of those relationships where you don’t feel comfortable enough to fart in front of the other person.
HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, MR. T!