I'm telling this story on LiveJournal now because Laura keeps asking me if I've told this story on LiveJournal yet. Now the answer can be yes.

This was about three weeks ago, I guess. It was nine-thirty or so at night, and Laura and I were walking home from our karate class. "Oh, my god, we had the funniest conversation in the locker room," said Laura.

"Did it have to do with tattoos?" I asked. The last time Laura told me about a funny conversation in the locker room, she described a scene where she and the other women in our class were standing around in bras and panties comparing their tattoos. I had to ask her to stop lest I obsess.

"No, but Sempai Jones said, 'Oh, my God, did you hear that guy fart during our stomach crunches there at the end? I mean, no big deal, it happens in classes all the time, but it stunk so bad I had to move down a few feet.' "

Sempai Jones had been at the front of the class, leading us in our final exercises. I had been in the front row. I hadn't noticed her move.

"So I said, 'I heard it!' " Laura continued. " 'And at least I know it wasn't Bill. I know the sound of his farts.' And Jennifer said, 'Yeah, it wasn't my fiancée Sergio either.' "

"Thanks for diverting suspicion," I told Laura. "But I have to confess."

She slugged me in the arm. "That wasn't you!"

"I'll just say this," I said. "You may know what my farts sound like, but how often do you hear them when my legs are over my head and my ass is sticking in the air?"

"Hmm. Good point."

I covered my face then. "Oh, god, I'm so embarrassed."

"Well, hey," Laura said proudly, "none of the women think it was you. I took care of that for you!"

What would I do without her? I just hope no one from class reads my journal.

[CODA: In a perfect world, the music I'm listening to right now would be "Too Much Information" by the Police. Instead you'll have to settle for . . . ]