After San Diego ComiCon last week, a few of my friends and I were texting each other about how much we already missed hanging out together. Still feeling it from Friday night at ComiCon where I danced for three solid hours like a maniac, I had made an appointment to get a massage that Monday. After several minutes of texting with my friends, I  told them that I had to leave the conversation because I was about to get that massage. My one friend responded “You have the perfect life, Anne. When I grow up can I be you?” to which I responded “You don’t want to be me. I fart waaaay too much.”  It’s funny, but it’s also true. This response reminded me of a story I’ve never told and since I’m all about the awkward stories and no mystery, here it is.

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When our oldest son was in college, he wanted to come home to visit for the weekend. He was going to school in Tucson and the only direct flights were to go through LAX, not the super convenient Burbank airport. I had planned to pick Ryan up when he landed that Friday but for some reason I felt really nauseous and had a horrible headache, so Wil picked him up. I missed Ryan and wanted to spend time doing fun things with him, but I ended up feeling nauseous and run-down all day Friday and Saturday, so Wil and the kids went out and did stuff without me. I couldn’t eat and just felt really tired and achey so I was either in bed or on the couch his entire visit. His flight out on Sunday morning was ridiculously early. By late Saturday night I was feeling a bit better, so I offered to drive him to LAX in the morning so Wil could sleep in, and so I could have a little bit of time with Ryan before he left.

I woke up Sunday morning feeling much better than I had the last couple of days. It was so early (5:30am) that I decided to just drive Ryan to the airport in my pajamas. The nausea was pretty much gone and since I had hardly eaten a thing over the last couple of days, I decided to bring a banana in case I got hungry on the way to the airport. Ryan slept the entire drive instead of talking (on account of the early) so I just sang along to songs on the radio. When we were more than half way to the airport, I actually started to feel hungry, so I opened the banana and ate it cautiously, worried that it would upset my stomach again. It was ok and I was able to finish it, but as I was approaching LAX, I had the most painful, bloated gas belly I have ever had. I knew it was because my gut was so empty from no food for days and from whatever virus I had that was finally getting better. I didn’t want Ryan to be late for his plane if I had to make a stop, so I quickly got him into the terminal and up to the curb to go inside.

The minute Ryan shut my door, I put on my blinker and started to pull away from the curb, and that’s when the biggest, most toxic, I’ve-had-some-sort-of-intestinal-virus-for-days fart blasted out of me. I laughed, grateful I didn’t subject Ryan to that, and quickly, yet legally, merged from lane to lane with my blinker on (no cars there whatsoever) to get over to the turnout on the left side to leave the airport. I was choke-laughing on my fart, trying to merge quickly so I could roll down my window and just as I made the turnout, I heard a siren behind me. I looked in my mirror and saw a cop on a motorcycle pulling me over.

I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong but I frantically chanted “NO NO NO NO NO!!” as he approached because I hadn’t had time to roll the window down from farting yet and my car was a TOXIC WASTELAND that was about to be released when he approached to ask me to give him my driver’s license. OH GOD.

The officer got off of his motorcycle and walked up the side of my car to my driver’s side window. I had maybe a 5 second lead on his approach, so the window was slowly going down as he walked up. I thought about apologizing for the smell, but everything was happening too fast. Before I knew it, he was standing in front of my window and had leaned down, saying  “May I have your driver…” and that’s when he stopped abruptly to launch STRAIGHT UP and turn to the side next to my mirror BECAUSE HE GOT A FACE FULL OF MY FART AND WAS LETTING THE TOXIC WASTELAND AIR BLOW PAST HIM. He took a second to compose himself, then started over with his request to see my driver’s license and insurance card. I was trembling from embarrassment, acutely aware of my choice to wear pajamas while I drove, and handed him these items by reaching my shaky hand out to meet his side-turned body. He took them and walked back to his motorcycle to run my license as I sat in the car, now chanting “oh god oh god oh god he got a face full of my horrible fart oh god oh god.”

The officer walked back up to my car, assuming the position of the side stance next to my mirror again (the air was clear by this time but I guess he wasn’t taking any chances) and said ” You know, if it were busy here, the lane changes you made to get over would have been illegal. I’m going to let you off with a warning, but don’t do that anymore” and as he handed me my license and insurance card, he said “Nice pajamas” and walked away.

I sat there in stunned silence for what felt like several minutes, and then I started laughing so hard that tears were running down my face. I knew the way I merged across those lanes wasn’t illegal. I didn’t plow straight across all 4 lanes. I had made the merge one lane at a time, I just did it quicker than usual because A) There was no traffic and B) I had to start moving and get my window open before my face melted off from the air inside. All I could think was this guy is going to go back to the station and tell all his buddies about pulling over a woman, most likely because he was bored and saw that she was wearing pajamas, because he thought it would be funny to embarrass her. But the joke was on him when he leaned in and got the surprise of his life with a mouthful of post-intestinal virus eye-watering, face-melting toxic fart that literally blew him to one side.

As I pulled away from the curb, tears of laughter streaming down my face, I said out loud “Meh. That’s what you get for pulling me over. That’ll teach ya.”

The moral of the story here is this: Don’t wear pajamas while you drive but if you do, make sure you drive with the windows down.