Women Don’t Fart
Which brings me to the subject of this post.
If you are a dainty lady, you might just skip this post and find one about how to wrap holiday presents with burlap and birds nests, or make champagne jello shots.
If you’re not a dainty lady, read on but I warn you sometimes I swear. Maybe not in this post, but it'll happen sooner or later.
There’s a painting in this post, in case you hadn’t noticed. I’m an artist and this particular painting was inspired by a street encounter with a random guy and his dog.
It all started when I stopped to tell Random Guy that his giant, wooly dog was cute; to which he replied, “Yeah, dogs are man’s best friend - better than all the annoying people you meet.”
As I watched him walk away, I sensed there was something negative implied about women in that remark. The sarcasm in his voice might have indicated that he was more pissed at his ex or his Mommy than me, but of course I had to make his imagined childhood trauma all about me.
That’s just where my mind goes at this age when I encounter rude. I try to be polite even when conjuring sarcastic thoughts after being dissed, because I have southern roots and that’s what we’re taught to do.
Stuff your feelings at all costs.
But that gets harder to do as you get older. I know the real meaning of “bless your heart,” which is what dainty ladies from the south say to someone’s face with a smile when they really feel like saying, “F#@% You!
I feel like saying that a lot these days. And swear words.
But of course dainty ladies certainly don’t say the f-word, and farting would be out of the question without a dog nearby.
That's when it dawned upon me that dogs are really way more of a woman's best friend than man's; men are free to fart with impunity!
From there I wandered a bit farther down the rabbit hole.
If a dainty lady lived here in this Mexican village and ate what we eat, then she would definitely need to fart sooner or later. So, I imagined a cute dog she could keep next to her on her silk couch. Just in case.
And that’s how this painting came about. Except I imagined if I was a dainty lady instead of an artist wearing a paint-covered man-shirt, I’d prefer a red velvet loveseat with embroidered pillows and tassels. Because I'm still a bit of a girly-girl.
So I painted that. Because I had to make it all about me.
And since it’s my imagination, I kept the adorable little fella I imagined for her, too, to sit next to me on my loveseat. The next time I make tacos. Just in case.
That’s it, that’s the end of the story. It’s siesta time and I can’t remember what I thought after that.