what is life exactly?

Baked Beans.


> One day I met a sweet gentleman and fell in love. When it became
> apparent that we would marry, I made the supreme sacrifice and gave up
> beans.
> Some months later, on my birthday, my car broke down on the way home
> from work. Since I lived in the countryside I called my husband and told
> him that I would be later because I had to walk home.
> On my way, I passed by a small diner and the odor of baked beans was
> more than I could stand. With miles to walk, I figured that I would walk
> off any ill effects by the time I reached home, so I stopped at the
> diner and before I knew it, I had consumed three large orders of baked
> beans. All the way home, I made sure that I released all the gas.
> Upon my arrival, my husband seemed excited to see me and exclaimed
> delightly: ‘Darling I have a surprise for dinner tonight.’
> He then blindfolded me and led me to my chair at the dinner table. I
> took a seat and just as he was about to remove my blindfold, the
> telephone rang. He made me promise not to touch the blindfold until he
> returned and went to answer the call.
> The baked beans I had consumed were still affecting me and the pressure
> was becoming most unbearable, so while my husband was out of the room I
> seized the opportunity, shifted my weight to one leg and let go. It was
> not only loud, but it smelled like a fertilizer truck running over a
> skunk in front of a pulpwood mill. I took my napkin from my lap and
> fanned the air around me vigorously.
> Then shifting to the other cheek, I ripped off three more. The stink was
> worse than cooked cabbage.
> Keeping my ears carefully tuned to the conversation in the other room, I
> went on like this for another few minutes. The pleasure was
> indescribable. When eventually the telephon farewells signaled the end
> of my freedom, I quickly fanned the air a few more times with my napkin,
> placed it on my lap and folded my hands back on it feeling very relieved
> and pleased with myself.
> My face must have been the picture of innocence when my husband
> returned, apologizing for taking so long. He asked me if I had peeked
> through the blindfold, and I assured him I had not.
> At this point, he removed the blindfold, and twelve dinner guests sat
> around the table chorused: ‘Happy Birthday!’
> I fainted.

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