It was the dog, I swear

I sometimes feel a little shy on zebra crossings. I don’t like the drivers peering out at me. I feel exposed and I don’t like the attention. Yet here I am, this supposedly shy person, writing about my poo on the internet. Not exactly the actions of a chronic introvert, I agree. But when I started this blog I made a promise to be honest. To tell it like it is, no matter how embarrassing. So it brings me no pleasure whatsoever to announce that for the first time in a very long while, I can fart again. This is of course a good thing. Unless you happen to be in the room with me, in which case it’s more of an eye-watering thing. Up until the last few days passing wind would have meant a change of underwear (sheesh, now I really am airing my dirty laundry in public). But oh, what a blessed relief it is to trump without fear of touching cloth. Now when I let one go I don’t let anything go with it. My guffs are gaseous, dry as a bone. I think this is a positive development and a sign that things might be getting back to normal down below. There is a wind of change blowing in my bowels, if you like. Well, that was only mildly uncomfortable. But in order to give a truthful account of life with ulcerative colitis, I think it was worth the blushes. Better out than in as they say.