Forgetting Flatulence

I should start this post off with an apology. Some might find this funny, others might find it repulsive. My neuro-psychologist told me to keep a sense of humor about my condition. This is my attempt at following her advice.

Yesterday, I had a craving for burritos. I am surprised I still have cravings considering I don't can't taste. I walked Artie to the local burrito stand and ordered a chile relleno burrito and a breakfast burrito, no meat, extra beans. I ate the breakfast burrito as soon as I got home. And for lunch I had the other. I should say, one thing I've noticed since waking from the coma; my stomach can't handle the same things it used to. Having Mexican blood in me, one would think that eating beans and spicy food would be harmless. I ate the food hoping that I would return to normal.

Then came the evening. Aimee was on the couch working on her computer. I was on my big brown leather chair watching some lame television. I had gas and I let it out. I had been letting them out all day and couldn't smell them, forgetting I have no sense of smell. So I let a few rip on the chair. Next thing I know, Aimee is yelling under a pillow. She looks up and asks if it was me or Artie. I said I let a little one out earlier. She looked at me and told me I was disgusting. She looked like she was about to gag. I told her that I couldn't smell anything.

"Yeah, you can't smell. I know. That's disgusting."

And then I said it. What I think might be the funniest thing I've ever said.

"Yeah, not smelling really sucks. It's starting to bum me out. The hardest part about it, I miss the smell of my own farts."

Aimee ran out of the room to grab the can of Lysol. She came back to me laughing on the chair. She was still holding her breath.

"Cmon, it doesn't even smell. I can't smell a thing," I said. She wasn't ready to laugh. I am...doctor's orders.