I had a neon fishnet top, and soft blue pants. My stomach churns and twists, the gas building up inside like a bomb ready to explode. l contort myself into different positions, hoping to find comfort. But each movement only seems to make the gas more agitated, more insistent on being released. l have no choice but to give in and let it all out. The smell of my own flatulence fills the room, mingling with whatever mystery meal l consumed earlier that now wreaks havoc on my digestive system. Spoiler alert: it was lactose.