Church pews can be hazardous to your health, particularly if they have cushions. Me? I actually prefer hard pews because then I know it's clean. I can always sit on my coat or jacket if I need some padding. Or else I can offer it up. Or kneel.
But this was a Presbyterian church, and the Presbys don't kneel, and there was no decent place to store the farty-sharty cushions while my husband and I enjoyed a Christmas concert.
Let me back up. We went to a Chanticleer a cappella Christmas concert last night. It was held in a rather large Presbyterian church. We've been there before for services, but we've never chosen to sit up in the balcony. The cheapest seats were balcony seats, and I figured it would be easier to get in the front row up there than it would on the floor, so I might be able to lipread a little bit, and/or hear the music a bit better.
After we scored our seats, there was a vague aroma of a gaseous body waste. I presumed it to be the guy behind us. Even if you fart in an obscure corner, farts can get trapped in your clothes and follow you around. (Don't ask me how I know, kthx). Shit happens.
My husband has old-man knees, and the pews are made for people with short legs, so he had to stand up to stretch his legs and knees out before the concert started.
OMG, I thought. He must have sharted!
I'm a bad wife. Why the heck did my mind immediately think it must be coming from my husband? Maybe because his butt at an equal level with my face. Or maybe I remembered Sherlock Holmes considering all options before ruling any one of them out. I tried to sniff the air around him discreetly. (It immediately reminded me of this video I watched earlier yesterday, and I cracked up.) Okay. It's not coming from him.
...so where was it coming from? Did the guy behind us shart? Then that would explain that whenever Jeff stood up, it drew the contaminated air away from the guy, and toward me.
Someone needed to pass by our seats, so we stood up and scootched out to the aisle. The guy behind us had a girlfriend who was snuggling up with him. How can she snuggle with a sharty guy? It can't be him either.
It was the pew cushions. During the intermission, I cautiously leaned over a little bit and sniffed. Just close enough to determine if it was emanating from the cushions without looking like an idiot who sniffs cushions, and without getting a noseful of shart smell. It was undoubtedly coming from the cushions.
Febreeze. For the love of God, they needed to be Febreezed. Or burned and replaced. This is why some churches have incense.
The cushion absorbed years of church-goers' farts, and perhaps even the pastors' farts as they floated up from the pulpit, and was outgassing the indelicately aged aroma. Unfortunately, my husband needed to uncurl his knees from the cramped pews a couple of times during the long intermission. Thaaanks, sweetie.
Other than that, Chanticleer was fantastic. Most of the foreign language lyrics was in the program, so I could mostly lipread along. I even started getting lulled to sleep toward the very end while listening to the music. And they did an encore of Silent Night, which I was hoping they would do since it wasn't in the playlist.
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