Don't Shit Shame Me
I’m writing a blog post about poop. Just warning you now. If you want to tune out after this first sentence I totally get it.
There are many things to be passionate about. Books, music, world peace. For me it’s pooping. I love it. And I feel like I should clarify I don’t actually love the physical form of poop. While writing this and looking at the title I’ve chosen I’m suddenly aware that people are going to assume this post is about a fetish I have. I’m not one to kink shame anybody, what you choose to do in your own bedroom is your business. But poop? Really people…poop? I mean, it’s poop. Come on people. Come on.
What I enjoy is the experience. A time in the day where I get to sit by myself in a nicely lit room surrounded with objects to make the room smell better. A mini vacation in the middle of the daily grind where I can sit alone with my thoughts and beat that Candy Crush level that I’ve been stuck on for days and YouTube videos of frat boys kicking each other in the nuts. This is where I experience my own personal nirvana.
I’ve reveled in this intimate time for as long I can remember, and believe it or not it’s gotten me into trouble. When I was in middle school my teacher was waiting for me outside of the bathroom after a particularly long session. She drug me back into the classroom, stood me in front of my entire 8th grade class and said “thanks to Jake taking so long, nobody is allowed to take bathroom breaks anymore.” Goes without saying that was a traumatic experience. Also I’m pretty sure she was later fired for not letting kids go to the bathroom. And drinking on the job. Moving on.
I have no tolerance for people who think it’s appropriate to humiliate others who are in the middle of partaking in the natural practice of going number two (yes I know there’s more important things to be up in arms about right now, but I’m choosing this topic).
“Hey what’s taking so long in there, are you giving birth?”
“I’m sorry, give me a second to tell my body to hurry up it’s amazing process of digesting a solid food into a smaller form. Guess you don’t appreciate science!”
“What’s taking so long in there?!”
“Hey buddy how about a courtesy flush?”
“How about you go pee in alley you simpleton?!”
(My comebacks suck but hey, I’ve got more important things to focus on in that moment)
I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is no, I have no idea why I’m writing about poop. Writing can be hard sometimes. Not everything I write is going to be gold. Sometimes it’s going to be, well, shit. I guess this stemmed from a dirty look I got from a woman as I exited a bathroom today. A judgemental, accusatory “how dare you use a bathroom for what it was made for” type of look. Also she kind of looked like my eighth grade teacher. Which also explains why I cried in the car afterwards.
So to quote that weird Charmin commercial with the bears:
Enjoy the go!
Let your ass trumpet play!
Blow it out your blowhole!
Unclog your plucker!
Proclaim your prostate (that one doesn’t make sense but I needed something that rhymes with prostate)!
Again I apologize for this post. Tomorrow’s will be better. Maybe.