Breaking the disgust-bubble

Oh, allright. I'll be the first to break the disgust-bubble. I am sure I am not the only one, but even among guilty pleasure sharing people this taboo exists. So here goes.

I like my own farts.

There I've said it.

Even the terrible ones. In fact, I like the terrible ones even more than the regular ones. I almost feel a bit proud when a particular disgusting one, with the undertones of an odour I am not used to, really persists in the room.

I like the smell, especially in bed, under the covers. Take a quick sniff and put them down again. Then I wait a bit. Then I take a quick sniff again.

I like their sound. Sometimes they're almost melodic little tunes. And sometimes they're just an extremely prolonged saxophone rumble. I like how their pitch tens to go up just at little at the the end of the rumble.

And don't get me started on bathtubs.