Girls Like Taking a Dump, Too

I’m single.  Yep, it’s true.  One time a few years ago I accidentally walked into a men’s room in an office building.  Seriously, it was an honest mistake and I was not trolling for a date.  I immediately knew I was in a men’s room, not because I saw any men standing around.  It was because of a pair of legs I saw behind the door of a stall.  And the trousers down around his feet on the floor.  No woman would ever, ever let her pants fall on the floor while she was dropping a deuce, even at home.  I ran out of there so fast you’d have thought there was some kind of national emergency.  In my opinion, it was. 

 

I’ve heard of the reason you shouldn’t dip into a public bowl of peanuts or popcorn at a bar (because of where a guy’s hands have been), but how can even any guy—except for maybe Sen. Larry Craig—let his pants just fall on a filthy public bathroom floor?   I mean, do their knees have to be open that wide?  

 

When I was in high school I remember we had a speaker talk about the satisfaction of a good bowel movement.  The woman was old, even, and despite the tittering from the hormone-charged audience it didn’t hit me until years later that it was a rather odd subject for assembly.  Except it’s true. 

 

It’s kind of like when my cat takes a dump and then afterwards she goes a little crazy and runs really kooky all over the house making little noises.  It feels exactly like that when it’s that good.   Also, post-dump is the perfect time for anal sex.  Except I don’t have a boyfriend, and it’s just not healthy to double dip with your vibrator.   Thank god the cup exists now, so that women no longer can accidentally contaminate their tampon string. 

 

Elimination tonight was particularly excellent.  Two plates of fresh, vegetable-filled salad will do it every time.   When I know a big one is coming, there’s no way it can be stopped.  There’s no ‘I’ll just wait until the commercial.’ All yakking on the phone must immediately cease.  When you gotta go, you really gotta go.  At least, I do. 

 

I amazed myself at this porcelain colossus.  Honestly, it looked like one of those Polish sausages folded in two in the package.  I almost took a picture, but even I couldn’t bring myself to go there.  Although once when I worked in the corporate world and had an assistant, he came running into my office and told me I had to go with him.  He’d rounded up a bunch of us and we all trooped into the men’s room.  There we witnessed nothing short of a dead anaconda coiled in the bowl.  Whoever had left it hadn’t even attempted to flush.  Egotist.  I just hope that thing wasn’t breech delivered, because if it was that sucker would have HURT.

 

I know it couldn’t have been my ex, because he refused to take a shit in a public restroom.  Every time we were out and he had to “go,” he made us leave and go back to his place so he could take care of bidniss.  Come to think of it, dumping him was equally satisfying.