Love... From Both Sides (A laugh-out-loud romantic comedy) by Nick Spalding

and the conversation is sparkling.
    The first indication that something is horribly wrong is when I have the uncontrollable urge to fart.
    I’d deliberately asked Jamie not to put much spice into the fajitas for just this reason. Spicy food plays havoc with my internal workings.
    They had been mild fajitas – but not mild enough it seems.
    So while he’s telling me all about the time he went kayaking in Colorado , I’m squeezing my bum cheeks together and trying to ignore the urgent rumblings in my nether regions.
    I hold on to the fart successfully until Jamie goes out to make coffee.
    With relief I negotiate it out of my body without noise.
    But oh my, it’s a stinker .
    You cannot imagine how embarrassed I was…
    Here I am on a second date with a man I already like a lot and I’ve just turned his front room into a gigantic Dutch oven.
    All I can do as he returns is hope his sense of smell is terrible.
    Jamie puts down the coffee and has a sniff.
    ‘Oh no,’ he says, as I go crimson. ‘Sorry Laura, the bin smells a bit. I’ll just go empty it.’
    So there it is… my backside officially smells like a rubbish bin.
    As Jamie bashes and crashes around in the kitchen I feel a very unpleasant rolling motion coming from my stomach.
    A blinding wave of nausea passes through me.
    ‘There we are, all better,’ Jamie says as he comes back into the room.
    ‘Where… where is your toilet, please?’ I ask weakly.
    ‘Upstairs. Second on the left. Are you okay Laura?’
    ‘Yes, yes I’m fine.’
    No, no I am not fucking fine!
    Out of the chair like a shot, I’m over to the stairs faster than you can say salmonella.
    I experience the onrush of another enormous pocket of air in my bowels and hurry up to the first floor.
    Sadly, the motion of rushing up the stairs is too much for my delicate innards and as I get three quarters of the way up I fart again. A long, sonorous wet number that carries all the hallmarks of somebody in imminent danger of soiling themselves.
    It was so loud Jamie must have heard it.
    I wish I had time to be suitably mortified, but my bowels are sending me such strenuous emergency signals that all other thought is banished from my mind.
    In the bathroom I get my dress pulled up and my knickers down at the speed of light and park myself on Jamie’s toilet (I still have bruises on the backs of my thighs from where I sat down so heavily on the seat).
    Blesséd - and noisy - relief then follows.
     
    This is such a terrible turn of events I should be feeling that the bottom has fallen out of my world – were it not for the fact the world is now falling out of my bottom.
    It’s only a small house, so Jamie must be able to hear what’s going on. I’m pretty sure the people in the neighbouring houses can too.
    It was a wonder they didn’t call out the fire brigade.
    ‘Are you okay?’ I hear Jamie cry from downstairs. ‘Only you looked a bit green when you - ’
    He stops mid sentence.
    I then hear the sound of heavy, fast footsteps and the clatter of pots and pans coming from the kitchen. A cry of horror, a couple of gasps, a plaintive squeal, and then hideous, hideous silence…
     
    I remain locked in my death struggle for a good ten minutes.
    Finally – mercifully – the tide abates and I can prize myself off the bowl.
    I still feel pretty nauseous and fear that there will be an encore performance in the near future, but for now the worst is over.
    I flush and wash, breathing deeply to restore some composure.
    The walk back downstairs is… cautious .
    Jamie is nowhere to be seen so I walk across his lounge, along the hallway and into the kitc -
    Oh sweet mother of God!
    Jamie is squatting over the pedal bin, his trousers round his ankles. He looks up at me in horror.
    ‘I’m sorry!’ I wail and back away as fast as I can.
     
    In a state of skin crawling disbelief, I stand in the lounge waiting for Jamie to (oh God) finish up and compose himself.
    He eventually re-appears, holding his