First Date Farts

A short story on relationship bliss

I let out a satisfying, phlegm-clearing snort.

“Ew,” Alisa says.

I shrug and sheepishly smile… then swallow.

“Really?” she says, glaring.

I look around the quiet café; its modern Mediterranean decor contrasts the lush jungle environment here in Costa Rica. There’s not another patron in sight.

“At least no one is around!” I attempt to cover my foulness with facts. But then I realize someone is around, and she’s sitting directly across from me.

But there’s a level of comfort between us that, albeit gross at times, is also special.

In the fifteen years of marriage that we are celebrating today, Alisa and I have gotten to know each other pretty damn well.

We’ve lived in New York City, the US Virgin Islands, Australia, New Zealand, Long Beach (New York), Breckenridge (Colorado), and Costa Rica.

In that time, we have also owned nine different vehicles—a few which doubled as highly-mobile homes. (On a side note, if you want to get to know someone well, travel with them; if you want to get to know someone REALLY well, travel with them while living in a car together.)

During the past decade and a half, we’ve also supported each other through a combined FORTY-FIVE jobs, with Alisa laying claim to more than thirty of them—maybe she does have ADHD like she always tells me. Through those experiences, we have known each other as corporate rat racers, hospitality pros, entrepreneurs, coaches, and creatives.

“It’s nice to be me with you,” I smile at my wife, best friend, and adventure partner.

And as we celebrate this milestone, we are in the midst of unpacking into our twelfth home—our fourth in Costa Rica alone—and the future is exciting. The present is too.

Perhaps the secret to a love-filled, healthy marriage—aside from a supernatural-yet-masochistic ability to have truly open and honest conversations—is liking the person you’re with for who they are. The paradox, of course, is that ‘who they are’ is always changing; humans are as fluid and flowing as water in a whirlpool.

I let out a laugh as I return from a mid-brunch daydream, remembering something that happened very early in our courtship: We had just begun dating when Alisa blurted—having no filter is one of my favorite qualities of hers—“You’re not one of those guys who thinks that girls don’t fart, are you?”

“Of course not,” I reply, “But, oh man, you’re gonna regret saying that.”

She let’s one rip.

With much relief, I follow suit quickly after and step on a duck of my own.

The truth is that she didn’t regret it, aside from a few superlatively stinky nights that stand out from six-thousand-plus nights together.

After all, who wants to hold anything in; we all want to blurt, belch, and let the backdoor breeze out as inspiration arises.

It turns out, it helps to be ourselves as early in the relationship as possible too—less time holding up facades…and holding in farts.

However, timing is essential. Our flatulating freedom wasn’t granted during our first dinner together. We’re not barbarians…

We waited until dessert.

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Enjoy the journey!
Mike