They fart to?

I took a shortcut today by cutting thru a parking garage. On my exit, I came ten feet short of a young woman of statuesque build and seemingly refined upbringing. It was of course a quick assessment; it lacked study, and was purely based on superficial aesthetic and unbiased on the event that would soon transpire. She, the young women, chatted away, her attention fixed on whatever pressing issue lay on the other side of her phone call. The head was held high, perhaps by a long neck passed down by previous generations of stately families or by the snobbish attitude of one who grew up poor and married rich. Her Fendi purse, she wore like a badge of honor stating claim to immediate taxi halts and unsupervised walk troughs at Neiman Marcus. Then without warning, the immediacy of her conversation mimicked that of the long, loud, gassy release that came out of her well shaped ass. She looked back as if ready to ask an imaginary friend what that God awful noise behind her was and there she found me. My mouth must have had the lagging stupor of a pot-head watching cartoons. The methane brought down the 4 century old wall of white-washed stereotypes. I stared at her with wide eyes, aghast, because for a moment she was the lowly one, unaware of western etiquette and the finesse that a woman with such a fine bridged nose should posses. She then succumbed to a nervous hysterical laughter which abruptly slowed down her pace and interrupted her diligent sounding out of vowels and consonants which her type, so often, are proficient at. I kept a straight face, ‘cept for my eyes which were a quarter-inch short of rolling. The tip of my finer nose was then a few degrees higher, then that of six paces back as I went past her, and only then did I make allowances for a smile.