Last week I went to the hospital for a gastroscopy, and that was the day I felt my dignity was the thinnest in my life.

The nurse handed me a pair of specially made examination pants with a hole at the back. I was waiting in the corridor wearing those pants, feeling a chill behind me, like a balloon ready to deflate at any moment.
When it was my turn, the attending doctor was a very serious old man. He was putting on gloves while chatting with me: “Young man, do you usually feel stressed?”
I was lying on my side on the bed, sensing the movements behind me: “Doctor, I don’t know if I’m under a lot of pressure, but I feel like I might burst now, probably because the laxative effect hasn’t worn off yet.”
The doctor sneered: “Don’t be nervous, relax. The more tense you are, the harder it is for my spotlight to get in.”
In that instant, due to my nervousness, I instinctively let out a loud fart, even knocking the doctor’s mask askew. The doctor sighed and said to his assistant: “See, that’s what I call pressure release. This patient may have lost his dignity, but his exhaust system is still very healthy.”