gas

I am not yet of the age -thank God- where, as a woman, you can burp or fart or say whatever you want (although I am often guilty of this one anyway) in public without anyone raising an eyebrow.

I know it isn't even ladylike to talk about it. And in some circles I might be considered a lady. Some very loose circles.

But, I live in a house full of testosterone. We talk about bodily functions. A lot.

MFH says life gives him gas.

The Boy can literally fart at will.

Joel has never farted in front of me, but I hear through the testosterone grapevine that he can really rip one off.

And the dog? Let's not go there. He is old.

Lately I've been really gassy, too. I've been working out daily for 30 minutes when I wake up in the morning. I'd like to think the toxins are working themselves out of my body in this manner. The men in my family are amused by this excuse. They are not, however, amused by my, um, condition.

Like my dear departed grandmother used to say. "You can't sweat 'em out between your ribs!"