Monday, June 08, 2009

WOEFUL TALE

Oh! what, these old things? I've had them ages, John.
I went swimming this morning and did not drug up first. Guess who could not swim? Well, I did but painfully and not for long. Okay, that's sorted then. Yes, I know, why don't I just accept I need to drug up to live properly? Easier said than done.

IBS can be a bind. Now if only I could guarantee good farts when I am swimming. Turbo charged laps. Mind you, could empty the pool too. Even the dogs look at me in disgust and leave the room if I fart. Even with the Colofac, dog show days are awful. Of course my gut is worse and gets worse the closer I am to going into the ring. It is really stressful to not fart. See, proof I am a good sport. If I wanted to knobble my competition, I'd just have to let one rip and watch as the dogs all drop like flies.

Weapon of mass destruction? So glad Bush isn't going to read this and if he does, well he's a has been anyway.

Anyway, back to farting. I am at that stage in life when one cannot be certain that it is just a fart. Oh and on the cold days when I am wearing 100 denier pantihose I swear I could float away on a fart. Several actually, they seem to get trapped. I keep away from smokers just in case. I tell you if they found a permanent cure for IBS that would be Global Warming sorted.

And when one is 100% certain that it is not a fart and one goes to the trouble of getting undressed in the loo, gripping the bars around the loo (yes we crips need them) as we go, only to discover it was all a lot of air after all. To struggle up, manage to get your three layers back up, clip your braces on, straighten your hat, only to find that you need to go - and urgently. So you go thru it all again, grunting all the while thru the exertion of having to undress for the second time. Swearing that this time, you will sit there long enough to be certain. And yes, enough air to fill a family sized balloon. Where did it find the time to build up, I ask? How? I just let a rainforests' worth go! So, with a determined attitude, one sits there for 3 minutes, 4 minutes, 5 minutes and then one just has to get up because if one sits there any longer, the body locks and one is stuffed and one has no wish to call out for help while one has trousers and pantihose wrapped around one's ankles. Much grunting and effort later, a final straightening, a quick look in the mirror to make sure all is as it should be, I turn the handle and open the door and turn right round again cos this time I really do need to go. Success at last. All that exertion for what amounts to a chipolata. Give me strength! IBS is no laughing matter so I hope none of you have been laughing at my tale of woe.

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