November 13, 2014 by Writing Campus
Each Thursday, Rupert & Angus answer reader questions. Submit yours here!
I consider myself to be a healer and something of a cunning woman. My husband’s guts have defied all of my treatments, and he farts somethin’ fierce all day long! It’s no just after beans and cabbage, mind ye. It’s after bannocks, parritch, and ale! No food is safe, and I canna take it anymore. I think he does it on purpose, ye ken – just to irritate me, and to keep the windows open so that he can stare at the lassies as they walk past our house. Rupert and Angus, I trust yer judgment. What’s a woman to do when she must hold her breath while in the same room as her husband?
Smellin’ in Scotland
Rupert: Och, lassie. If ye canna take a whiff of a good fart, then ye havena any business being marrit! My grandda always said that ye can tell the best women by the farts they’ll put up wi’… but he died of asphyxiation only a month or so after that – no tellin’ what from. My grandmother hated my grandda’s gas, and she gave him a good dose of peppermint along with a glob of honey in his tea (or whiskey). Also, avoid Menzies’ tavern down on Friar Lane – the bastard has the flattest ale around, and it will make the man toot up a storm! Should ye no manage to tame the blattering beastie with that, have ye considered callin’ Father Bain? The man has no farted in years – costive as an owl, ye ken – and may find a way to root out the unholy demons from yer husband’s bowels.
Angus: Oh, I see this for what it really is! Yer hopin that he’ll quit “lettin’ it out,” eh? Men have been fartin’ since the dawn o’ time, and I see no reason why we should change now! Be glad it’s no’ worse – there’s a man in our village who has terrible gas, and I’m no convinced that he doesna shit a little bit now and then wi’ how bad the smell is. Of course, he doesna wear a kilt, so it’s just stuck wi’ him all day long! If yer husband doesna wear a kilt, then tha’s likely the problem. A man’s parts were meant to be free, and it helps wi’ movin’ the smell about a wee bit. We’re a smelly bunch, and it’s yer curse as women to deal wi’ us – farts and all. And dinna worry… eventually ye’ll no smell it anymore!
Best of luck to ye, Smellin’!
Rupert & Angus