alt=a hand squeezing a water balloon covered in condensation droplets.

My Wet Fart Reminders

As a 24-year-old man, I have spent, most of my life, trying to relish in my youthful nature. When I was a kid, I would spend my summers making movies and short films with my friends. Those memories, and long film days a laugh with buddies, manifested themselves into a love for acting! Which is basically playing pretend as a job.

Growing up was just never really something that was super urgent. Yes, I loved being creative and youthful, but I found that the longer I could wait to become an adult, maybe the happier I would be? Sans responsibilities and hardships?

Being an adult turned out to be rewarding

Having my own place and being to pay for it ended up being so incredibly rewarding. I would wake up, on my own time, and drive to work at the break of dawn. I could provide for myself and learn how to eat on my own without needing to trick myself into liking it! Hell, I could eat whatever I want and whenever I wanted! No more trying to shove Brussel sprouts down my gullet in the name of ‘eating green’ like a ‘good boy.’ It would be smooth sailing being on my own.

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I can’t with the wet farts

If someone were to tell me that my developing IBS-D would include this cool feature through to adulthood, I would not have believed you.

I mean come on, farts were supposed to be funny! Or, in grade school, a cue to turn your butthole into a miniature Fort Knox. Not letting as much as a whisper or idea of stink emerge.

Farts were something to be trusted. They used to be, for me, a way of releasing pressure. Making sure that my IBS wasn’t manifesting into something more solid. I was on location, filming a movie, in a museum, waiting to go before the camera, and struggling with my stomach. I mean anxiety is enough of a trigger, but I needed fuel to carry on! So I found myself taking dramatic passes around the museum. Cropdusting each antique, feigning over history in an attempt of not needing to find a potty.

This was my life but at least I could rely on it

Nowadays, I have to constantly measure the fart behind my butthole. As if I were dipping my toe in the water to test a pool’s temperature, I’m supposed to do the same with my anus? Every fart could be my last, filled with slight moisture. Enough to ruin my day until I can wipe and get on with my life.

This is grand-adulthood? Honestly, it feels like I’m still a kid. Like no matter how hard I try, I am still a baby who needs a diaper. Like no matter how old I get… I am… still… a kid at heart?


No matter how old I get, how many bills I have to pay, or how many bosses chew me out, I still have wet farts. I am still creative and imaginative like I was in days of yore. Only sometimes, I need my butt to remind me of that. Huh, looks like an occasional wipe isn’t that bad when it carries with it the memories of a simpler time. I find myself so eager to look to the past that maybe, I should live with both. A hybrid of my love to act but my responsibility to check my farts before I wreck myself. If this is what it took to get here, so be it. Better be safe than sorry (just like passing gas)!

This article represents the opinions, thoughts, and experiences of the author; none of this content has been paid for by any advertiser. The team does not recommend or endorse any products or treatments discussed herein. Learn more about how we maintain editorial integrity here.

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