The horrible shame of the False Fart

And this is how a normal day unfolds and crashes.
See, the other morning, I think it was Tuesday, I rushed to get ready (it was a “weights” morning and as usual on those mornings, I’m left with barely enough time to shower and get ready) and during my primping and cosmetic self-fixations, I noticed my fingernails were awfully long. I didn’t notice during the weekend past apparently, and suddenly it dawned on me that they were dangerously out of control. And not very attractive. I tried to remind myself to trim them after the shower, which of course I completely forgot.

I dressed, brushed my hair (whatever that means) and off I ran. As I drove to work it occurred to me: shit! I forgot to trim my nails. Consequently, I was fixated on my nails for much of the morning and very conscious of their intrusive presence. I battled to push this compulsion to the back of my mind and resumed going about my busy day. Forgot about them. Went about working, eating lunch, the usual procession of daily minutiae.

Later in the afternoon I sat at my desk in our office. I was sharing it with a female co-worker and we were stuck in the middle of some repetitive tasks and the office was incredibly quiet. Other than the tapping of keys and the occasional sorting and riffling of paper, there was absolute silence. By this point in the day, I had completely forgotten about my overgrown fingernails which protruded from my fingers like an an overgrown ragweed bursting from an ocean of gentle ferns.

I don’t specifically remember what happened that caused me to lean over and halfway out of my seat, but I did. We have hard-molded plasticky chairs with multiple settings and they are covered with sheer synthetic cushioning. As I eased myself back into the chair, my right hand swept across the seat and my long damn nails, one of them, got caught on the fabric surface and ran across the length of the seat and made the loudest, most God-awful ripping sound which I suddenly realized, here in the utter silence of the office, sounded like a clearly ripped fart! My co-worker’s seat is situated such that I am behind her and out of her visual sight…but not of her hearing range. My long fingernail had created the perfectly projected rasping sound of a sharp, shredded Fart. Fuck that. It sounded more like a fart than some real farts do! From her perspective, the sound she heard was unmistakable. Oh god. Luckily I know her well (but not well enough to fart in front of her comfortably)…

“Alrightie, then,” she exhaled.
I wasn’t dreadfully red-faced embarrassed but I was kinda self-conscious. I needed to explain this away.
I told her, “It wasn’t what you think. Really.” I began to run my fingernail across the seat to no avail. I was unable to recreate that horrifying sound. “I can do it again,” I promised futilely, scraping my finger across the fabric.
“Uh, no thanks, that’s OK,” she cracked.

Fuck! If I’m going to be guilty of farting, at least I want to be able to let some real gas out.
I was cheated. Exposed to the shame without the relief.