I stopped by the grocery store today after the gym to get a candy bar with "protein" written on the wrapper and water with carcinogens disguised to give me energy. There was only one person waiting in line at the self check out, a girl in her early twenties. Yoga pants. Blond pony tail. I got in line behind her.
The people self-scanning their items had full loads but I stood there patiently. After a minute or two I was overwhelmed by the smell of fart. I eat a lot of red meat and broccoli, I'm intimately familiar with the smells the human body is capable of making and this was a pure american processed food fart. I looked around for someone to pin the smell on that wasn't this girl, who was holding 1/2 of a chocolate pudding cake I imagined she was taking to the married friends whose house she ate dinner at 4 nights a week.
There was no one within 30 feet of us. She did it.
Unable to stand the smell I went over to the express lane and let a stranger handle my food before paying. The fart-girl exited the self checkout as I was leaving and though I can't explain why, I looked right at her and said, "nice fart."
Her face seized up and she dropped the cake which exploded a fantastic brown smear across the floor. I hesitated for a second and then walked through the exit.
In that moment where my feet stuck to the floor and I thought about helping her the following went through my head:
Awesome. This girl is cute. Too bad I'm married. If I wasn't married I would stop and help her and do all that I could to marry this girl, even if I don't like her because every time we met someone new I'd get to tell this story and it would be amazing and though she'd ask me to stop I'd keep doing it until she divorced me. Then I'd get to refer to my ex-wife as the farter. But I am married and fortunately Kate has never farted like that.