The Sharting Spectre II: Anal Apparition
It smells like a slasher in here…
You know how celebrity monsters just won’t die? Freddy is all fried up and grizzled but he keeps coming back to torment more teenagers. Michael Myers has been nixed in numerous ways but continues to maintain mobility. Jason reeks of rigor mortis but continues to kill those kids! And I feel as if I’m trapped in my own monster movie. Except this killer doesn’t have a bodily form. This killer doesn’t have weapons. This killer attacks the senses. This killer takes on the visage of vapor that travels to my face to frighten with its foul afflictions.
Yes, I’m smelling strange things…again.
It seems as if the sickening smells I had been experiencing in my classes had left me about a year ago this time. I thought I had rid myself of the omnipresent odors for good. That is, until the other day when I was sitting in my writing class. We were watching a movie. I was bored. I sat in my chair and propped my chin up with my hand. My eyes became slits as I fought off boredom. Suddenly, as if some invisible hand had slapped me in the face, I smelled something spotty.
I didn’t make any sudden moves, not wanting to bring attention to myself in case anyone around me was smelling it as well. Any straightening of the spine, any wandering glances would automatically put me in the spotlight of guilt. Surely these two girls sitting on either side of me weren’t capable of such a pungent faux pas. Not that girls don’t spray stinkers on occasion but these ladies looked too refined to roll out such a stench.
Well, somebody farted. And it wasn’t me.
Was it?
It was one of those situations where you have to question your actions of the previous 45 seconds. What exactly was I doing? I was sitting here, I know that. I definitely wasn’t paying attention to my tummy but surely I wasn’t the one who unleashed the dragon? It’s been known that poots accidentally pop out every once in a while. Granted, you might not feel them coming on and might not have any control when they come out, but surely you’d feel something as it was exiting. A tingle? A vibration? I had no sensation of slippage so it wasn’t me. But what if these girls thought it was me? Y’know, it sucks enough to have to sit around pretty girls and try to always look, act, and smell nice and it really sucks when a foul fart drifts past your nose and you get red-faced and paranoid that everyone’s going to think it’s you.
These scathing smells are like my very own versions of Chucky or a ghost-faced killer. It seems you can’t keep a good dead guy (or rotting smell) down. And I am the one who has to be haunted by the ghost of gouda.
Not only do I sometimes have to reassure myseld that I am not the owner of these odors, but it weirds me out that no one else seems to notice. I’ll sneak glances at other classmates and they seem oblivious to these musky maladies. Logically, I don’t expect anyone to immediately jump up and shout, “Hey, did anyone just release a brown speckled mallard?!” But still, it seems like there’d be a glimmer of disgust, a glint of discomfort spreading across their faces as the horrible haze spreads across the class. Maybe I am the only one who can smell these spirits?
My sister is gifted. She can smell anything offensive within a 500ft. radius. As a child, I was never able to drop a stink bomb without her giving me a stink eye. She smells things no one else can detect. It seems unfortunate she can’t smell the flowers outside or the fruity scent of someone’s shampoo. No, her talent is knowing when someone’s just stepped out of the bathroom by the lingering odor they leave behind. Perhaps I’m the unfortunate recipient of this gift as well.
Oh, how lucky we are.
Some people can sing, write, develop cures for diseases and I have the ability to smell butt burps.
Ever get the feeling life just isn’t fair?
It’s not all a bed of roses, ya know.