Offense...or Defense?

I have been going to physical therapy for the past few days. It sucks. I am not a "girl of motion" to start with. (Translation: Lazy Fat Assed Bitch). I used to be, once upon a time. Then again, I used to be a lot of things I no longer am. Like thin.

Anyway, I am not digging physical therapy in the least. The therapists are a great bunch of girls. No problem with that. It's the ex-er-ci-sing part that yucks me out. I actually had to ride a recumbant bike for ten minutes. TEN MINUTES, Y'ALL!

Do you know how many Ring Dings, Ho-Ho's and Ding Dong's a fat chick can down in TEN minutes?

To me, this biking thing is just simply time not so well spent.

I was in a bad mood from it. But let me tell ya...nothing kicks your ass in gear to finish your PT exercises like the CHICK NEXT TO YOU FARTING WITH EVERY LEG LEFT SHE DOES.

Yeah.

We are both doing these leg lift thingies with these giant leash/rubberband type straps. Every lift, BRAAA-AAAAAAA-AAAAAAP.

The first time, I said nothing. I hoped it was merely the cushions squeaking. The second time, it infiltrated my nasal passages, invaded my personal space and I KNEW it was no longer the cushions.

BRRRRR-AAAAA-AAAAAAAPPP.

By the third time, I looked over at the woman next to me.

"Are you okay?" I asked her.

"Oh, fine. And you?"

Um, no. I am not trying to make small talk with your smelly ass. I am trying to find out what is it that is making your asshole erupt every time you lift your leg like a well pumping out water. Why? Is there a reason for this? Was it too much bean and cheese at lunch? What? Explain it to me. I am a reasonable woman. I am a nurse. I am willing to hear about your medical condition.

I'm just not willing to SMELL your medical condition.

"I'm fine," I mutter, and go back to doing my leg lifts. She continues to make small talk. I grunt a few answers back to her, try to act interested and in the interim, getting nauseous. See, here's the thing. As a surgical nurse, I know that I am going to encounter many unpleasant smells during my day. I usually wipe a layer of Vicks Vapo-Rub under my nostrils, so I am inhaling THAT, as opposed to the scent of burning flesh or ruptured feces-filled colon. Yeah. Tasty. I am prepared for this at work. Not so much so at the PT office.

I do the next best thing. I breathe through my mouth so as not to destroy my nose. However, when I do this, it makes me sick. Why? Because I am getting the sensation that I am now EATING this woman's farts, as opposed to just smelling them. I am inhaling her flatulence like a person getting second hand smoke in their lungs.

This is SO not cool with me.

Mercifully and forty-five farts later, we're at the checkout desk. She's done after I am. I just made my next appointment. I hear her making an appointment too. She makes hers at the same time I made mine.

"Oh! Now we can be leg lift partners again," she says to me while waving buh-byes.

"Great," I reply flatly.

So, here's my issue.

If I change my appointment, I ruin MY personal schedule for the day. If I don't change my appointment, I potentially destroy my sense of smell and the olfactory nerve that runs to my brain. I will never again smell the scent of my childrens freshly washed hair. I will never again smell the rich musk of my husbands cologne. To make matters worse...HOW will I ever be able to tell when I have that, um..."not so fresh" feeling going on??? Hmmmm???

Let's see.

Personal schedule interruption or...

Lifetime of smelly crotch without realization.

Inconvenience or...

Potential alienation of all who are close to me.

Yeah. I think the fart lady and I will get along just fine.

I'm bringing my jar of Vapo-Rub, just in case.