As stated in William Shakespeare’s play Romeo and Juliet,
By any other name would smell as sweet;
which basically means that names are not the thing or person. Names are just words used for identification, but the essence of the thing or being will remain the same no matter what we call it or him/her.
For instance, I could call a potato an apple, but the potato will still be a potato. A potato will never be an apple no matter how many times I call it “apple.” The name of something doesn’t change the essence of it’s existence.
Today I was talking with the guys at lunch and it was one of my Steve moments. I always find it so amusing that men and women have such a difference in attitudes about some subjects.
The topic of conversation navigated towards two things which men in general find quite funny while women turn their noses up at the subject:
- Flatus which is better known as a fart, poot, passed gas, breaking wind, barking spiders, fluff, silent killer, air biscuit, cut the cheese, bean bombers, poof, ripsnorter, green fog and toot to name a few and I mean “few”
- Eructate which is just another word for burp, bubble, belch and vurp
Unspoken rules exist for men and women when it comes to passing gas and burping in public, however, I wonder if women produced this chasm? When babies are small and mother’s hold them up to “burp” them, what do they say after the baby has produced an often loud burp? Women exclaim in a happy voice, “Good boy!” or “That’s a girl!” As the child gets older, boys continue to belch loudly because “boys will be boys” especially alone with one another. Girls, on the other hand, suddenly become shy about their bodily noises and try to be “little ladies.”
The tales at lunch today were about loud burping and passing gas in front of wives and friends who were mostly of the same gender. Of course, I don’t have a wife because although I have been dubbed Steve, I really am a woman.
No, I will not prove it.
You’re just going to have to believe me on that one.
Anyway, I started thinking about my grandmother who I call Mam-Maw. Since she has passed away and because I think she would get a big kick out of this whole post, I’m going to share a private story with you. Mam-Maw and I were buddies and she doted on me all the time. I loved spending time with her. When we were alone, she acted AB-SO-LUTELY hilarious.
I was about six years old and staying with Mam-Maw while everyone else was off doing their own thing on a sunny Saturday afternoon. I remember that Gran-Gran, my very hard working grandfather, was outside mowing the yard and gardening.
- “Ohhhhhhhhhh!” Mam-Maw exclaimed in a high-pitched voice as she ran towards the bathroom. Within seconds I heard loud farts that could have blasted the roof off the house.
“MAM-MAW!” I exclaimed giggling. This kind of loud-bodily-noise-sharing was something totally opposite of the behavior of my prim and proper Mom.
“Mam-Maw has got to do what she has to do,” she said as if we were discussing someone else.
“Why are your poots so loud?” I innocently asked her.
I don’t know if it was my amazement at the whole scenario, but she started giggling. Eventually she couldn’t contain it and the giggles turned into chuckles and eventually morphed into wholehearted belly laughs. Mam-Maw sounded so funny that I couldn’t contain my laughter either.
The more we laughed, the more she passed gas in a very loud way which only caused us to laugh louder. For whatever reason, Mam-Maw started burping during the midst of all the flatulating.
I was curled up in a ball on the floor outside of her bathroom door laughing until tears rolled out of the corner of my eyes and my stomach muscles ached.
As you can tell, Mam-Maw and I found great humor in “cutting the cheese” loudly and belching. So as the guys recounted their stories of bombing and being bombed during lunch today, I fondly remembered my stinky times with Mam-Maw.
I do not know why women think passing gas and belching are disgusting and men find them to be sources of great humor and even camaraderie. Maybe it will go down in the annuls of time as one of those Mars vs. Venus differences. I do know, however, that “by any other name” a fart would never smell sweet and that my Mom will still find this post disgusting.
Is that why I am laughing so hard and can barely type?