Dear Lady who Farted in Pilates Today,

Don’t worry–I don’t know who you are. I have been a member of the YMCA for a whopping 72 hours so you can find rest in the fact that your name will remain unknown/undisclosed. And I can honestly say that I remember the distinct sound of your flatulence more than any easily identifiable facial features (good/bad thing?). Because your identity remains in the dark, I will unfortunately have to refer to you as pila-toots. Sorry, ma’am. I just wanted to write this letter for you and for everyone else who has suffered from a public booty cough. I feel that this issue needs to be addressed and it is important for you to hear what I am about to say. Pila-toots–

1.) Your Fart Does Not Define You- So other than the fact that this blog is written about you, a nameless/faceless farting Jane Doe, I know that THERE IS MORE TO YOU THAN YOUR CHEEK SQUEAK. You had the courage to scoot your gassy little butt into a YMCA pilates class–crawling with lululemon wearing, skinny soccer moms–and you made yourself known by serving them a nice fresh air biscuit. Do not let this make you feel insecure. Feel proud. Because despite what society tells you, farts come out of skinny butts too.

2.) You’re an Inspiration– When you let it rip today, we were in the middle of an ab exercise. My legs were shaking. I was losing hope. I didn’t know how I would finish the set. When you farted, however, I smiled. You broke wind and it shattered my insecurities. You cut the cheese and I straightened my knees. Your butt exercised its right to free speech and my butt found its way back to neutral center. And for that, I thank you.

3.) Your Fart Should be Celebrated- Guess what? Farting is healthy and normal. The average person farts over 14 times a day, and if we make the grave mistake of holding in our farts, we LITERALLY GET FART BREATH. I’m serious. That’s a thing. I read it on linkdin (eh?). ALSO, farts are made up of approximately 25% hydrogen. You know what else is made of hydrogen? STARS. So there. Your fart is basically a star. And so are you, Pila-toots. You are a star.

So thank you, Pila-toots, for reminding me that not everyone who takes pilates is a robot. I know you may never see this letter, but somehow I have confidence that my gratitude is sort of like your fart–even though you can’t see it, you know it’s there.

xoxo,

Emma