Recently I made a purchase from the wondrous cornucopia of glee that is The Oatmeal's online shop. I bought some greeting cards and stickers and while these items are all infected with that special kind of humour that Matthew Inman aka The Oatmeal does so well, I did get thoroughly dicked on the shipping. So much so that I'd actually venture that my hilarious greeting cards were, in fact, a Very Silly Purchase. But we've all got a few of those in our wardrobe, am I right?
Anyway, one of the cards that I got was "Farting in bed", a treatise on the romance of flatulence in greeting card form. In it a male character with a very self-satisfied look on his face proclaims that his farts are really the ultimate in loving "methane cuddles" while his lady-love recoils with a look of abject horror on her face. It reminded me very much of myself and the Silver Fox. Especially the facial expressions. Even the female characters hair looks a bit like mine. So naturally I found it hilarious, bought the card, and gave it to the SF.
Because he does seem quite keen on "sharing" his bottom burps with me as if they are a delightful present even though there have been times when I've actually feared for my health as a result of inhaling in a "that cannot be doing anything good" kind of way. The Silver Fox's guffs are the gift that keeps on giving gagging. Of course he likes to pretend that my own gaseous emissions are more fetid than his but I think his memory might be a tad selective there. My farts smell of sunshine. Officially.
But whoever "wins" in the battle of the stinky bums (is there a winner, I have serious doubts) I have instituted a "no dutch-ovens ever" rule. This, folks, is my dealbreaker. I have made it quite clear that if I am ever forcibly restrained and gassed underneath a duvet, that will be the very last tender moment we share together.
At least part of this is that I get a bit freaked out and claustrophobic if I ever get trapped under bedclothes anyway, even without the addition of potentially toxic fumes.
In other relationships there have been less strictly adhered to rules that seemed to work. I once had an "I won't ever ask you to mow a lawn if you never ask me to iron a shirt" arrangement but The Dutch Oven Clause has always been in play.
Do you or have you had anything like The Dutch Oven Clause in your relationships? If so, what is your dealbreaker?
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