Not to succumb to little boys fascination about letting out wallops or any bodily “indecent” sound, but while eating dinner the other day, Chris pulled up a recent blog entry answering questions from readers. Particularly this section:

Q: My best friend swears that in over five years with his girlfriend he has not farted in her presence. Which lead me to two conclusions. 1) I can’t believe they’re still together, and 2) this has a make him a huge pussy, right?

A: Sure does. What’s the point of having a girlfriend if you can’t terrify her by dropping ass in the middle of some terrible movie she rented? On a deeper level, not farting around your girlfriend (or boyfriend, for that matter) suggests that you really aren’t all that comfortable around her. I mean, really. Five years and you don’t feel comfortable enough to let it rip with your old lady around? What, are you still trying to maintain the illusion of courtship? Ridiculous. You should WANT a girlfriend who you feel clear to nuke the couch around. That means you’re yourself, instead of some dipshit guy putting on airs whenever his chick is around. I hate guys like that.

At some level, this…bodily sound is immature. Is it because it’s primal? Why is it so private? Because it reminds us that we are at the core…animals?

But the core of the question is about…how long can your facade (the perfect side of you) last? Beyond bodily sounds, when are you ok with letting your frustrations air? When are you going to be ok with sharing the fact that you too make mistakes—like yes you do slip and fall, that you spill food on yourself…that you have bad habits too?

A few years ago, a friend who I was semi-interested in overheard a conversation I was having about the state of my room. My room in Pittsburgh was a puny room the size of a walk-in closet with a sloping roof with only room for a twin bed and a desk. And I simply could not keep it neat. Being brazen, my friend asked me, “Will you clean it for me, Jenn?”

All at once, I was slightly irritated compounded with constant nagging from my mom to clean my room when I was a teenager and the desperate need to be neat in this society. Immediately, I said, “No.”

But what I was trying to say was that there was no way I would ever change for anyone.

Returning to the Bay Area with a solid education and better social skills, I was finally comfortable with myself. And when I ever did “date”, I would lay it all out. There was no reason to pretend to be perfect. In contrary to popular dating logic, I preferred to talk about all the things that may annoy people—particularly my natural social anxiety, my dislike of being too girly, not drinking…and freely pooting.