Like a knife in my side.
I can’t sit here like this.
Jesus, how much longer?
I can’t even focus on what he’s saying.
It’s been 6 months, can I fart in front of him…or what?
Holy shit. Pun totally intended. I am dying here. I am in DC, and all I want to do is take a nice big poop, but I can’t. I just can’t. Dr. Oz says that it’s completely normal. You know, not to crap on a vacation. To get all stopped up, and irregular. Well, Dr. Oz, this is technically not a “vacation” it’s a weekend at my boyfriend’s place…and I need some kind of Miralax cocktail! I am in pain, and I just need to do it already! But I cannot poop in front of him. I know all y’all have had this same problem, so shut it. Don’t you sit there, all high and mighty, rolling your eyes. You know, you have all been here. Right here where I am, sitting at the table…across from your man, dying. Writhing in pain. Holding in your shit. Hoping and praying he will get called into the office for a meeting, or paged to do surgery. Something. Anything. Just so you can take a dump.
I mean, I was married for 14 years. I did everything in front of Mark. I plucked things. I bleached things. I removed things. I popped things. Nothing was sacred. And I did it all with no shame. No modesty. The door wide open. I mean, I shit on the table during child birth for the love of Goddess, didn’t you? I know you did. Don’t lie. One of my best friends told me she made her husband peel an orange in the delivery room. Just in case she shit. I wanted to throw up. But hell, you do what you’ve got to do. I guess lighting a match would have been dangerous. ha. But life was different when I was married. Now, I’m “dating” again. And this guy will never hear me fart. Or see me poop. I mean, never. As far as I’m concerned, I shit Jelly Belly’s, and my farts smell like roses.
And who wants to use a public potty? Not me. No way. I will not sit my clean ass on a dirty seat, you can totally catch diseases. Duh. But I think that might be my only chance this weekend. I might just have to do the “sneak-away-shit”. The,”Oh honey, I have to go get a pack of gum.” And then, find the closest shitter. Jeez. No problem. Yes problem. Big huge problems. I have to survey the scene which is taking away critical-crapping time. Time that I clearly don’t have. It’s cutting into my pooping. Dammit. First, check for company. Then I have to make sure no one can see my feet, so I lift them up. Have you ever tried shitting with your feet up? Is this TMI? I know, it’s way too much info. And I don’t have all day. But forget it anyway. I just can’t do it. I cannot poop under pressure. Or in a public place. What a disaster.
There is only one thing to do. I’m going to just have to be honest with him. Break down the bowel movement barrier, and move to that place in our relationship that may cause a little discomfort. I will have to just tell him I need some “alone time”. Some privacy. I need to use the bathroom, because I have to go number two. Numero Dos. I have to pass a BM. For Goddess’s sake, I need to take a shit!! Get the fuck out of the apartment, and go take a walk around the block a few times!
I mean, everybody poops. It’s a bodily function. Just like eating, or burping. Or urinating. Everybody poops. So, I just have to tell him. But it’s SO embarrassing, right? Fuck, being married to someone you didn’t care to impress was just so much easier than dating a guy you are in love with, ya know? Wait, that didn’t sound very nice. But you get it. It’s just so different this time around. This guy didn’t see my vagina get all blown out. He didn’t see me nurse my kids until my boobs bled. He gets me skinny, and kinda newish. And I get to be in lust, and want this new guy to think I’m the sexiest thing on the planet. And I want him to literally think my shit doesn’t stink.
So, I think…I will stop talking about poop. And gas. And use the bathroom with the door closed this time around. And I’ll pluck, and pick…and pop in private. Yes, I will privately pluck, pick and pop. Oh, and poop. As a matter of fact, everyone should make it a point to pluck, pick, pop and poop privately. Omg. I am positively preposterous. And still totally full of shit. Who has a recipe for a good cleanse? ;)