A Treatise on Farting
Little Old Lady Comedy
by gayla m. mills
Yesterday our dog Riley let out a discrete fart while he lay on the couch. He looked startled, then sniffed around at his backside, presumably to investigate. What was he assessing—the sound, the feel of moving air, the smell? More importantly, what was he feeling—embarrassment, surprise, confusion?
These are the kinds of questions that trouble me. And if I can’t understand a basic question about farting, how can I understand larger questions of truth, beauty, and our purpose in the world?
Today I was conversing with my friend Julie when I inadvertently farted. What was I to do? In these situations, it’s customary to mumble “excuse me,” which others acknowledge with a brief “that’s okay,” while continuing the previous topic as quickly as possible—as if, somehow, the fart and apology were actually happening in some other place or time completely, preferably to other people. And that’s exactly how things proceeded. But I had to continue talking while distracted by embarrassment and doubt. Would there be a smell? Would she think less of me for having committed this act? Would our discussion about approaches to interdisciplinary teaching at the university level be affected by my recent actions?
Later that day, I decided further analysis was needed. I began with a simple question: what would Riley do? Well, we know what he’d do. He would immediately start sniffing his own butt and ignore everything else. Then he’d sit erect as he (presumably) processed current events, showing no signs of shame or self-consciousness; I don’t know if dogs ever feel these things, but surely not when it comes to farting.
But we don’t take our cue from dogs. Although we naturally pass all sorts of solids, fluids, and gasses in the process of digestion, even the mention of farting provokes laughter or titters.
Particularly in public. Since the freer days of the Middle Ages, we have gradually separated our physical selves from our public lives. We aren’t supposed to scratch, burp, pee, spit, or otherwise draw attention to our bodies in polite company. Exposing youthful flesh is exempted, of course.
Farting is merely the more extreme example because of its mysterious nature. Who can say when it will be loud but not odiferous, silent but smelly? When someone coughs, we know what to do: attempt to physically distance ourselves from the germs without appearing to do so.
But what should we do in the case of a fart? Especially when the auditory warning is there? Surely it isn’t contagious. And in any case, the effects are temporary. A brief invasion of our senses, and then everything returns to normal. So we usually take our cue from the person committing the act (assuming we can even determine such a thing) and respond to that. Though the recipients will likely forget the incident immediately, the farter may suffer long term self- doubt or humiliation, particularly if the event takes place in church, during a Senate hearing, or on a viral replay on YouTube.
On the other hand, what is the etiquette for an SBD? Normal behavior, in the case of three or more people, permits ignoring the matter altogether. No visible sniffing or scowling is allowed. No one admits to the crime, no one accuses, and everyone prays there will be no follow up.
At home, though, all bets are off. It’s perfectly acceptable to point fingers or lay implausible blame on nearby pets. People may joke about volume or olfactory characteristics. Lying is also acceptable. No one will believe you anyway, and no one considers the truth will make any difference. It’s also understood that in the future, other family members will engage in similar behavior, so a degree of acceptance is required. Families may even join together in a series of farts in the aftermath of a shared meal, and our advanced language skills allow us to analyze what might have caused the event, rather than merely experiencing its effects as animals do.
But embarrassment at home is rare, unless--as is sometimes the case--the fart takes the actor unaware. Just as with Riley, who bolted upright in confusion, I have sometimes found myself surprised by my own outburst. As I get older, this is becoming a more common occurrence.
I also know that merely typing the word “fart” and its variations thirteen times just now has caused me some consternation, for the term itself provokes titters. Yet people remain fascinated by the word and the action it refers to, as its regular appearance in adolescent movies makes clear. Why this ordinary bodily function could be so rich with possibility I don’t understand. Further research might enlighten. There are plenty of cans of beans in the pantry.
But I think instead that I’ll adopt Riley’s attitude. He’s already doing something else. Maybe it’s time for me to admire the squirrels outside chasing their mates across a web of trees. The air looks fresh and clean out there.
Bio: Gayla Mills enjoys clean air, verbal sparring, and anything her dogs do. She’s published lots of essays and a book about how to enjoy making music with others.
(Aug 16, 2025)
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These are the kinds of questions that trouble me. And if I can’t understand a basic question about farting, how can I understand larger questions of truth, beauty, and our purpose in the world?
Today I was conversing with my friend Julie when I inadvertently farted. What was I to do? In these situations, it’s customary to mumble “excuse me,” which others acknowledge with a brief “that’s okay,” while continuing the previous topic as quickly as possible—as if, somehow, the fart and apology were actually happening in some other place or time completely, preferably to other people. And that’s exactly how things proceeded. But I had to continue talking while distracted by embarrassment and doubt. Would there be a smell? Would she think less of me for having committed this act? Would our discussion about approaches to interdisciplinary teaching at the university level be affected by my recent actions?
Later that day, I decided further analysis was needed. I began with a simple question: what would Riley do? Well, we know what he’d do. He would immediately start sniffing his own butt and ignore everything else. Then he’d sit erect as he (presumably) processed current events, showing no signs of shame or self-consciousness; I don’t know if dogs ever feel these things, but surely not when it comes to farting.
But we don’t take our cue from dogs. Although we naturally pass all sorts of solids, fluids, and gasses in the process of digestion, even the mention of farting provokes laughter or titters.
Particularly in public. Since the freer days of the Middle Ages, we have gradually separated our physical selves from our public lives. We aren’t supposed to scratch, burp, pee, spit, or otherwise draw attention to our bodies in polite company. Exposing youthful flesh is exempted, of course.
Farting is merely the more extreme example because of its mysterious nature. Who can say when it will be loud but not odiferous, silent but smelly? When someone coughs, we know what to do: attempt to physically distance ourselves from the germs without appearing to do so.
But what should we do in the case of a fart? Especially when the auditory warning is there? Surely it isn’t contagious. And in any case, the effects are temporary. A brief invasion of our senses, and then everything returns to normal. So we usually take our cue from the person committing the act (assuming we can even determine such a thing) and respond to that. Though the recipients will likely forget the incident immediately, the farter may suffer long term self- doubt or humiliation, particularly if the event takes place in church, during a Senate hearing, or on a viral replay on YouTube.
On the other hand, what is the etiquette for an SBD? Normal behavior, in the case of three or more people, permits ignoring the matter altogether. No visible sniffing or scowling is allowed. No one admits to the crime, no one accuses, and everyone prays there will be no follow up.
At home, though, all bets are off. It’s perfectly acceptable to point fingers or lay implausible blame on nearby pets. People may joke about volume or olfactory characteristics. Lying is also acceptable. No one will believe you anyway, and no one considers the truth will make any difference. It’s also understood that in the future, other family members will engage in similar behavior, so a degree of acceptance is required. Families may even join together in a series of farts in the aftermath of a shared meal, and our advanced language skills allow us to analyze what might have caused the event, rather than merely experiencing its effects as animals do.
But embarrassment at home is rare, unless--as is sometimes the case--the fart takes the actor unaware. Just as with Riley, who bolted upright in confusion, I have sometimes found myself surprised by my own outburst. As I get older, this is becoming a more common occurrence.
I also know that merely typing the word “fart” and its variations thirteen times just now has caused me some consternation, for the term itself provokes titters. Yet people remain fascinated by the word and the action it refers to, as its regular appearance in adolescent movies makes clear. Why this ordinary bodily function could be so rich with possibility I don’t understand. Further research might enlighten. There are plenty of cans of beans in the pantry.
But I think instead that I’ll adopt Riley’s attitude. He’s already doing something else. Maybe it’s time for me to admire the squirrels outside chasing their mates across a web of trees. The air looks fresh and clean out there.
Bio: Gayla Mills enjoys clean air, verbal sparring, and anything her dogs do. She’s published lots of essays and a book about how to enjoy making music with others.
(Aug 16, 2025)
Next