Pickle Farts

I was gassy when I went to work Friday.  I was in a position that got me up and about, so I could hide my farting -- tooting when the machine was on, for example, or if I could do it silently, I would do so as I was bending at the waist to work on a folder.  Unfortunately, what I ate the night before -- and I think it was just an orange -- was so, uh, noxious that even if I did pass gas silently, people around me could smell what I just emitted.  I just hope I was moving around enough for people to not know exactly who dealt it.  Or, they weren't breathing through their nose, one of the two.

I had a half-day at work Friday.  The farting didn't stop in the afternoon.  In fact, it got worse after I drank this special beer at Midtown Global Market that, I think, the craft brewer was going to debut at the Minnesota State Fair except for it, you know, getting shut down because of the 'Rona.  It was a gose, and it has the smell and the taste of pickled brine.  And I swear, whenever I farted for the rest of the day and evening, I smelled the pickle smell back on me.

OK, can I confess something?  I liked the taste of the pickle in the beer.  And, ahem, I didn't ... hate the smell of the pickle fart.

Don't judge me.  Deep down, I think people don't mind the smell of their own farts.

Nevertheless, I wonder if such a pungent odor from my gas is indicative of something I should worry about.  But, since those pickle farts were out of my system the next day, maybe not.