OK. I’ll just come out and say it. I seem to be retaining more wind as I get older. Or generating more wind. One of the two. Maybe even both.
Now I don’t want to give the impression that I am someone who drops their guts at the, er, drop of a hat. Because I am not. I am, in fact, legendary in my house for not farting. My butt is, by and large, a smokeless zone.
Tight as a steel drum. The Royal seal unbroken.
This is great. Because when someone drops a 10lb silent but deadly in my house no one dreams of accusing me of doing it because, well, hell would freeze over first.
There is a downside though.
See, I still produce gas. The methane seams are still there and rich in ore. The pressure has to be released at some point.
My wife, Karen, says I just save it all up for “proper” toilet visits.
And this is true.
Prior to the main performance the orchestra will tune itself up nicely and noisily – wind instruments first – and a great trumpeting clarion call will signify the commencement of the William Tell Overture.
I swear to God I could probably play a trumpet with my butt and hold a single note for a good 10 minutes.
And the older I get the longer the duration of the air exchange seems to get.
This is fine when I am at home. When the kids and the wife are busy downstairs and are deafened by the sounds of life. It is not so fine when I am in the toilets at work. Because at work I prefer to run on silent. It’s like an unspoken rule. Processes of the bum shall be neither seen nor heard. It is a brave man indeed who lets his ack-ack gun blaze away in earshot of his work colleagues and cares not a jot who hears.
I am not that man. Which makes my ability to store up vast quantities of methane gas a distinct disadvantage.
What I need, people, is for someone to invent a bum silencer or a butt muffler. Like the kind of thing assassins attach to their long range rifles so they may do their nefarious deeds without alerting anyone to their presence.
It needs to attach with an air-tight seal but be non-invasive.
It needs to be easy to clean and portable. The kind of thing one could keep in a man-bag (or even a handbag) without arousing smirking curiosity.
It needs to be affordable.
So. All you inventors out there. Consider yourself duly commissioned. Think outside the box. Have some fun.
Even better: have a blast.
So that, unbeknownst to my work colleagues, I can have one too.
