Let me introduce myself: I’m Sam, a 28-year-old who recently got hitched, though I’d never thought I’d say those words. Marriage wasn’t something I had ever pictured for myself. I’ve always been a bit of a loner, plagued with insecurities and a severe lack of confidence. But thanks to my family’s persistent nudging, here I am—a married man.

My wife, Emma, is 26 and the complete opposite of me: confident, kind, and somehow always radiating calmness. I spent most of our wedding day wondering how on earth I got this lucky. Fast forward to that night—our first night together as husband and wife. It went surprisingly well. No awkward silences, no dramatic freak-outs. Just peace, which was a win for me.

Then came the morning.

As the sun streamed through the window, I woke up to see Emma sitting on the edge of the bed, brushing her long hair. She gave me a sweet, shy smile, and I smiled back, trying to seem relaxed. But inside, I was a wreck. Why? Because of a very specific and very embarrassing issue.

You see, I have a talent. When I poop, I fart. Loudly. Not just “oops, excuse me” loud—no, think stadium fireworks finale loud. And now, with Emma in the house, my shame levels were skyrocketing.

Emma, blissfully unaware of my inner turmoil, said, “Good morning!” and went off to the kitchen. Meanwhile, I stared at the bathroom door like it was a medieval dungeon.

I finally mustered up the courage to casually announce, “I’m just going to the toilet,” flashing her the most unconvincing smile of my life. She didn’t seem to notice my panic, and off I went.

Once inside, panic set in. What if she hears? The walls weren’t exactly soundproof. My mind raced, and that’s when a “brilliant” idea struck me: What if I coughed every time I farted? Genius, right? Distract her with a loud cough while muffling the symphony of shame.

Feeling oddly proud of my problem-solving skills, I put the plan into action. The first fart came, and I coughed so loudly that it startled even me. Success! I repeated the process—fart, cough, fart, cough—until I felt confident my secret was safe.

I emerged from the bathroom a new man, ready to face Emma like nothing had happened. But there she was, standing in the hallway, holding a spoonful of syrup.

“For your cough,” she said sweetly, her big brown eyes full of concern.

“Oh… uh… thanks,” I stammered, taking the spoon and swallowing the syrup as my cheeks turned ten shades of red.

Then, with a mischievous glint in her eye, she added, “It works for farting too.”

I nearly choked.

In that moment, I realized two things: One, my cover-up game wasn’t as brilliant as I thought. And two, I might have just married the most amazing woman in the world.