#2. Sheet Stains
If you were to list some of the most horrible things you can ever run afoul of on a city street, somewhere nestled among roadkill and vomit would be a stained mattress. We've all seen them on the side of the road or in alleys; this wizened, yellowed relic looking like a portly, depressed murder victim discarded by society and rightly loved by no one. And you would never dream of touching one ever because a used, filthy mattress is the physical embodiment of the sound the person in the stall next to you makes in a buffet restaurant washroom. It's the manifestation of everything you don't like about other people in a conveniently sticky, musty form.
Human stains are the worst kind of stains, and ones Tide still refuses to address in their commercials (with the exception of bloodstains, which they never really go into because let's just keep that between us). Despite the fact that we all have the same fluids for the most part, we tend to only want to be involved with our own and those of a few chosen outsiders. A lot of this stems from the fear of disease, and rightly so -- the last thing you want is some dude at Subway making a cold-cut combo for you while his ears and nose drip fluids all over your salami and end up giving you Legionnaire's disease or yeast sclerosis.
When it comes to your own bed, there's a lot you're willing to put up with, especially when factoring in what causes any number of those stains to appear. The erotic fluids are only allowable when you have an active part in producing them, which is why no one ever wants to watch one of those investigative reports of a hotel when they bust out the black light because it makes us all grossly uncomfortable. We all know strangers humped in that bed, we just want to believe it's been sanitized since then. The bed, the shower, the carpet, the writing desk, the balcony, the coffee maker -- all of that has been sanitized. We believe that. We need to believe that.
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"Do you need any more towels? The towels are made of sperm-covered scabs."
Only with someone we have a sexual relationship with will we ever tolerate lying in a puddle. And even then you should probably change the sheets, but we've all had that 4 a.m. blitz that ends with dehydration and head trauma and we're not firing on all cylinders so we just pass out and when we roll over there's a shucking sound as the sheet peels away from our bare flesh. Right? Right.
#1. Being Farted On
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Martin Luther once said, "A happy fart never comes from a miserable ass." To fully appreciate this quote, spend some time reading up on Lutheranism. In the real world, away from all the charm and buoyancy of Germans and their theology, it's not the asses that get miserable when farts occur, it's the rest of us. As much as everyone loves a good fart joke, and of course we do because farts are hilarious (Louis CK assured me of it), the reality of farts is another matter. They're funny when they're yours; they're awful when they're everyone else's, because it's literally the way the air inside someone's butt smells. How could that be pleasant?
A fart's existence gets exponentially more offensive the closer to you it is when it's born. Fart across the room? Eh, whatever. Fart next to you in an elevator? Fuck that person and their rancid ass. But the rules fly out the window when you find yourself lying on your side late at night and you notice, a split second before it happens, the ass of the person you're sleeping with, all bare and warm and pleasant, nestled up against your flesh. Then the fart comes, and because they're so close, you can actually feel the stink hit you. The stink literally depresses your flesh and ripples across you and you just take it. Sure, you might scooch over a bit and make a terrified face there in the dark all by yourself, but you're not getting out of bed. You're going to hold the covers a little more tightly so that it can't creep up into your face and you're going to lie there. Warmer than you were a moment ago. Warmer and sadder.
That's it, just relax, let the fart coat you like a damp rug made of chalupas.
The sleep fart is one of the great, quiet tragedies of our time. No man is going to wake up his girlfriend or wife to let her know she just farted into the small of his back, barring those who thrive on confrontation and/or are in the death throes of a failing relationship. If you're happy and in love still, you know she doesn't want to know she farted into the small of your back and will resent you for even mentioning it, and even if you suspect she's actually awake and just pretending to be asleep out of shame or humiliation, you'll still just lie there. The only time in your life when you willingly accept being someone's gas sponge.
The only other times I can think of when you might accept someone farting directly on you involve being in prison or some kind of underground German club, but those are really niche scenarios and don't apply to the general theme here.