Which is a good thing.
Because the other side effect is copious amounts of gas.
He came out farting. A lot. I mean even for a man who can hold his own farting with the best of them. This was world class flatulence.
He cut the cheese in the waiting room, tooted down the hallway, ripped one at the drinking fountain and whiffied through the parking garage.
I maintained a safe following distance--an interval sufficient to let him know I was still there, but far enough away that you'd have to know us to put us together as a couple.
Here we are today:
Working on sudoku--No memory of yesterday's fart-fest
Me blogging about it
Let's just keep this between us, OK?
Because if he finds out, he'll make me tell you about my driving on the way home.