Professorial Flatulence: Part II

For fuck's sake! The woman must be stopped. I absolutely cannot be subjected to the fruits of her ass any longer. First of all, class sucked today. We were to have read a book called A Midwife's Tale. I haven't been happy about it all semester but I had planned on at least getting it from the library so I could have it in my possession. Unfortunately, it's not in the library. Apparently they think it's a great work of historical art, as well. Whatever. So I found the site I just gave you and managed to skim the first few pages in an attempt to prepare myself for an excruciating two-hour disucssion. And excruciating it was.Just having come from a heavily theory-based discussion from my feminism class, I brought with me to class some momentum. This momentum soon faded, as we (they) talked about particular things from the book. I chimed in every once in a while, even though I didn't read the book. I admit, I have a small attitude problem when it comes to this class. Every week, I regret staying in it but there's nothing I can do about that now. Anyway, I'm sitting there, lamenting the fact that only 25 minutes have passed. And then I heard it. The first rumble from the front of the table. She was sitting down, so I was pretty certain that I'd be safe from its effects. As far as I could tell, no one else reacted, so maybe I imagined it. I was wrong. The odor found its way to my nose and I started getting agitated. There were seven people in class today. We all sat around three long tables, which were set up in a "T" shape, with the flatulator sitting at the top. I was sitting at the other end by the door. And just when I thought it could get no worse, she stood up to write on the board. Now, with her ass pointing at us like a loaded gun, she opened fire.This was followed with a shorter flourish. This time, I was not alone in noticing. Ashley was sitting next to me and she didn't react. So I wrote her a little note. It appears she was in denial, hoping desperately that it was her shoes that squeaked. Who didn't notice. The prof. No reaction. No shame. Please sit back down, woman. She did. But it didn't matter. The rest of them were silent. But I smelled them. One person got up and left the room. I had considered that, of course, but I didn't want to have to return to a cloud of ass gas. So I sat there, barely able to concentrate on a discussion I didn't care about, hoping to hell that she would stop. I was so appalled. I don't know what the hell I'm going to do next Tuesday. I want to know why she is not aware of her crimes. If anyone can tell me, maybe this will help me have a little compassion. If she can't feel it coming, then of course she can't cinch the sphincter fast enough. But why no reaction afterward? I'm troubled. Deeply troubled.