(Part Five of the ‘Not for Jeopardy’ anecdote collection. This is the least ladylike of them all, so far.)

More than once, I have felt some belly burbings while commuting. Letting barking squirrels loose while biking is no big deal, obviously, though it sometimes requires a cheek lift, and I’m sure everyone’s done it. You generally don’t notice the noise, nor the smell, which I imagine dissipates quickly because I am such a lightning fast cyclist.*

However, one time I decided to relieve my mild distress at a stop light. It was impressively tooty. And I soon realised that the car next to me, also stopped at the light, had its passenger-side window open.

I stared straight ahead and said nothing.

In my peripheral vision, I saw the passenger look over; he also said nothing.

The light changed and I hightailed it out of there, not wanting to get into a dispute over farting in someone’s else’s car.

What else could you do, right? Has Miss Manners covered this? Have their been road rage incidents related to cyclists’ intestinal gas? Drivers hate us already, so it wouldn’t surprise me.

Now I always make sure not to fart near open-window cars. Unless I’m in them, of course, in which case, windows down all the way.

*This is a slight exaggeration, especially in Ottawa traffic.

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