“I’ve got really bad wind tonight,” I complain.
There is a cold silence from the bed beside me, followed by the whooshing of an approaching tirade.
“Will you just STOP IT???” she demands.
I am taken aback. “What?” I ask.
“It’s all you talk about! I don’t want to know! Why, why on Earth, do you think that I might be possibly interested?”
“The very first thing that you said to me this morning,” she states, “was ‘I’m just going to try to squeeze one out.’ The very first thing! ‘I’m just going to try to squeeze one out.’ It’s your entire conversation!”
“I didn’t mean…”
“Bodily functions! I’m sick of it! It’s just a bloody running commentary all the time on your bodily functions! You can’t just go to the toilet like anybody else; you have to announce the fact beforehand and then do an in-depth run down of what you’ve left in the bowl. You can’t just say that you want a drink because you’re thirsty; you have to have a drink because you’re dehydrated and your wee is ‘looking a bit cloudy.’ The very first words I heard this morning! ‘I’m just going to try to squeeze one out.’”
“Since we first met,” she concludes, “your conversation has gone downhill.”
I say nothing, a little crestfallen.