Dear Daphne: He Filled The Wrong Moat
baron von crapalot asks:
Long has it been an early morning jape of mine to let forth with a trouser cough before leaving bed, and quickly pulling the covers up over her Ladyship’s head, thus allowing her the privilege of tasting the fragrance of my daily firstborn. This ne’er really goes down too well with her Ladyship, but over the years she has come to expect it. Recently though, the prelim to my AM b.m. has caused me great strife and left me banished to the servants wing overnight.
The problem started but a few nights ago, with the delivery of a rather pungent Chicken Vindaloo. It was not long after finishing it that the rumblings started. She, who must be obeyed, and I shortly retired to bed. The following morning, I was awakened by a vice-like grip around my middle. Assuming this to be a 'special' booty trumpet, I positioned myself accordingly, on my side with my back to her Ladyship, and waited for the dawn chorus. Now, as we bear in mind that both I and her ladyship sleep in the buff, the pressure built until… I let rip with what I thought was going to be a fart of quilt-raising volume. Alas, no, not even a shart; this was muck spreading of the worst kind… all up her Ladyship's back.
As she woke with a start, I instinctively pulled the covers over her head, thus making a shit situation very much worse.
After everyone had calmed down and the ambulance had left with the two servants tasked with cleaning her Ladyship and the bed, even with my apologies abound her Ladyship is now insisting that I sleep with the servants. They don't endure my early morning activities with the stiff upper lip that her Ladyship does, as I have already been landed with a black eye. What can I do to regain her Ladyship’s favor?
As I pen a response, dear Lordship, I am reminded of the words of a great comedic bard from both stage and screen:
If the royal funds are low, however, his Lordship might find himself out in the cold. I see very few ways back to your Lady’s quarters that do not involve jewelry; and I am suspect to believe that the royal jewels have already taken a dusting, as it is.
While I might better relate to the good-natured tavern wench whose plump bottom you’ve pinch during many Lads’ Nights Out than to your royal Lady, I don’t think it’s a stretch to assume that Ladies do not like to wake up with shit in their laps. I don’t think they appreciate the Dutch Oven treatment, either. As hard as it might be for you to believe, your farts stink; and they kinda’ gross us out.
You made Brown in the vicinity of the most sacred part of your Lady’s anatomy because you thought it would be funny to fart on her. While catastrophic, this is a golden opportunity for you to consider things from her point of view. Do not limit your self-reflection to your faulty ringpiece; instead, ask yourself where else she might detect sulfur in your relationship, whether that sulfur is real or metaphoric.
How does any woman feel when the person she shares her life with behaves worse in her presence than he would in that of others, such as family? It’s not that we Ladies don’t accept you menfolk for you are; we do. It’s that we often feel as if we don’t merit your efforts to impress. It’s as if we are taken for granted; and it is actually this transgression that has taken you, Baron, from the silk sheets to the stables. Not only did you shit on her, but you shit on her.
If you want to make it back to the bed of your Lady, you are going to have to put forth a little more effort in the home and hygiene department, and you are going to have to promise to stop purposefully farting in bed. Compose a contract that declares you will no longer engage her in unappreciated gaseous warfare, and stick to it. Present it, pre-signed, during appetizers at her favorite restaurant, and splurge a little; no harm ever came from perusing the Wal-Mart jewelry counter. Remember – she has seen you naked.
I firmly believe your actions will make all the difference if they come from your heart instead of from your lower colon.
My sincerest well wishes, as you are a veteran PoopReporter, and we want to see you knee-deep in booty.
Love is supposed to be fun!
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