It'd been a month since I'd seen my boyfriend. I live in Paris and he lives four hours away. We have only been going out for five months. We're in the new stages of a relationship and are madly in love. Everything's rosy when we see each other and we're sad and lamenting when we're apart.

As we'd missed Valentine's Day, I knew our reunion would be special. We were going to make up for it the first night of my arrival, and I couldn?t wait. I wore a black shirt embroidered with lace and a pair of dark Diesel jeans that I know he loves. My hair and my make-up went off without a hitch and I, for the moment, smelled fantastic, wearing a new perfume.

The four-course dinner was prepared with love and tasted superb. The wine was a very expensive bottle that he'd been saving since Christmas. Everything was going perfectly: the meal, the candles, the soft music, the conversation?our happy reunion was everything I had hoped it would be...and more.

The more was my stomach started to feel weird. Was I nervous and just excited to be face to face to with my man again? Was it the incredibly rich and delicious food I was shoving down my throat? Was it the wine? The dessert?

And then I remembered that my heavy-laden stomach could only feel this way because I was entirely too full. Not just full from that night?s meal, but full from several nights? meal. I had reached my limit.

Before I could continue my deduction, my boyfriend gave me "the look". The one that says, okay honey, shall we? I wanted to, more than anything, but my stomach dared me to move. But I did. While he smiled and pulled me up from the table, I rubbed my troublemaker in hopes of calming it down a bit. I think I only made it worse.

As my boyfriend kissed me and led me to the bedroom, I felt like I?d gained an additional 100 pounds, all in one place. While he excused himself to go to the bathroom, I undressed and got into bed. I was admiring my brand new red lingerie and trying to strike my sexy pose when it happened. The slip. Oh no. But it was too late. I had flatulence in my boyfriend?s bed. Under the covers. I had passed gas, farted, pètée! And he would be back any second! The worst part is that I had no idea it was one of those. Not until he came back from the bathroom and pulled back the covers.

It hit us both at once. It had been, in fart terminology what we call a ?silent but deadly? one. Oh nooooo??. At first he didn?t say anything. Hasitly, I shouted something about him going back to the bathroom to get my srungee. He went away and I felt the flush on my cheeks getting deeper and deeper. When he came back and got in bed beside me, he said ?Was that you?? Oh nooooo indeed. I was caught. I was busted. I had let one slip and it smelled as if something had crawled up into my body and died! (My mom?s definition for really terrible smelling gas). Honestly, it was the worst smelling gas I have ever had in my life! What did I do? I laughed and laughed and laughed. That's all I could do. Luckily, so did he.

But needless to say, the Valentine's Day lovemaking we had been expecting was postponed. Somehow all the sexiness of that night had evaporated, and my boyfriend's probably still wondering just what the hell happened. The good ting is that, well, it's out of the way. It had to happen sooner or later (although it really didn't have to smell so bad.) We can't always be on "vacationship," can we? I mean, we will eventually get around to even peeing in front of each other, right?

Yeah, I'm just trying to erase the embarrassment. You got it.

The next day I was off to the pharmacy bright and early to get an evacuation method. The French pharmacies seem rather limited in what they'll give you though. What I wouldn?t have given for a good bottle of castor oil before this romantic rendez-vous!

Submitted by P.T.

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