My husband, the superhero

The other night I walked into the bedroom, and my husband was lying in bed watching T.V. At the very instant I entered the room, he let loose a magnanimous fart that surely erupted from the very depths of Tartarus. Concurrent with this monstrous feat of flatulence, the T.V. turned off, as if on its own. For a moment, logic betrayed me, obviously stunted by the kamikaze attack and olfactory meltdown of the ginormous fart, and I turned to my husband and said, with great surprise,

“Did the force of your fart just turn off the T.V.???”

My husband stared at me as if I had just given birth to a flock of dancing sheep. Annoyed, I asked again,

“Seriously, did you just turn off the T.V. with a fart?”

My husband gave me another look, a look that says surely-you-are-kidding-because-otherwise-you-need-some-serious-psychological-help, also known as the “what kind of crack have you been smoking?” look. He said, calmly,

“You turned off the light switch when you came into the room”.

I looked at him dubiously, because our light switches don’t control power outlets. He repeated,

“When you turned off the light switch it must have caught a circuit or something in the T.V. and made it turn off”.

As the cloud of noxious gas dispersed I began to regain my senses, and I realized I had indeed turned off the light switch right before the T.V. turned off. The fact that the fart occurred at the same time was simply coincidence. Deflated, I looked at my husband and said,

“And here I was hoping we had just discovered your hidden superpower”.

I’m still not sure what bothers me more: that I actually thought a fart could turn off the television or that I’m not actually married to a superhero that uses his flatulence to do good in the world.