As I’m standing on the shuttle that takes you from the ticketing terminal at the Las Vegas airport to the gates the other day, I notice that the pretty twentysomething woman next to me – accompanied by a group of young female friends – is wearing a t-shirt that reads, “I LOVE TO FART” (the “Love” being a graphic heart, of course, which really classes up the message).
This set me to wondering exactly what kind of woman would wear a shirt that boldly expresses her preference for public disgorging of bodily gases.
This is obviously a woman who does not worry where her next relationship is coming from. She is either happily married to someone with highly damaged olfactory nerves or is a hippie chick earth mother type who doesn’t shave her armpits and thinks anti-perspirants are a Fascist plot to kill us. God knows, there’s nothing wrong with either of these – some of my best friends can’t smell or tolerate corporations – but I would counsel that, if she wonders why people are throwing themselves against the doors of the an airport shuttle and screaming to get out, she may want to glance down.