I Love You Just the Way You Poop

A lot of people measure the success of a relationship in superficial milestones: idyllic vacations, gemstone anniversaries, the birth of children.

I prefer to be more realistic: When you start announcing your poop schedule to your beloved, you might as well buy your adjacent cemetery plots now, because CONGRATULATIONS, you just bought a one-way ticket to Metamucilville, party of two, five p.m., no seats by the window, please, it’s too bright and I have astigmatism.

But let’s rewind.

See, just as your heart starts skipping beats at the first flush of love/lust, so does your colon start skipping daily deliveries. You know how it goes: You live in fear of needing to poop in the general vicinity of your new paramour, and then all of a sudden your body adjusts. You could eat a trough of pears topped off with some three-bean salad and tumbleweeds would continue to just roll past your silent sphincter. Life is good, if a bit bloated.

Then, once you’re cohabitating, things start to relax. As long as you have a scented bathroom candle and some emergency matches you can begin to take your time “plucking your eyebrows” with the faucet running.

But it’s a slippery slope, friends.

Fast-forward a dozen or so years and suddenly you find yourself emerging from the can with your pants around your ankles, making the arm signal referees use to signify a successful field goal.

Not that my husband and I do that.

Not at all.

The romance is so alive in my house that I haven’t pooped since the Bush administration.

George H. W.

It’s amazing I can even walk.

 

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About Una LaMarche

Una LaMarche blogs at The Sassy Curmudgeon, and writes for The New York Observer, The Huffington Post, and NickMom. She dominates at mini golf, especially after a few drinks, and it is a fact that Tim Gunn once complimented her on her sandals. You can find her hawking blog posts and fetishizing candy on Twitter, and if you really want to feed her ego (which took a major hit thanks to an adolescent unibrow and a penchant for Troll doll earrings), you can become her fan on Facebook.

Comments

  1. Liz says:

    I don’t know… Six years later, we talk poop all the time and still can’t keep our hands off each other. I guess we have the best of both worlds.

    Twitter Name:

  2. Nancy Roman says:

    After twenty years of marriage, my husband still uses “semi-in-love” codewords. “My stomach isn’t right” means don’t use that bathroom for at least half an hour. “My stomach is a wreck” means an hour.

  3. Gagging. And laughing. :-)

  4. Sles says:

    More true words were never spoken. A side note: did you know that in Japan the toilettes have an array of sound effects that you can use to mask the pooping? A-mazing.

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Trackbacks

  1. [...] v. bathroom time, complete with chart!  (Aiming [...]

  2. [...] I always feel guilty about leaving the stall before the thing flushes. It always does, but what about the times when there’s a long line, and someone enters the stall before it flushes after the previous pooper? Sometimes, that thing doesn’t flush for a minute or more. Ick. I have this THING about pooping on top of a stranger’s poop. Color me goofy. [...]

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