Today marks 1.5 years with my guy (that doesn’t include the two previous years I hated him for carrying a messenger bag into work every day like a tool). We’ve laughed (about cars that sound like farts), argued (about whether self-driving Google cars are a good or bad thing), and even managed to develop a mutual In-N-Out addiction. It’s amazing. However, in my opinion, the best, most rewarding thing about this relationship has been our toiling journey with… poop.
1. Poop Fiction
For the first couple months of our relationship, poop was the thing we didn’t talk about but both knew existed in each others’ large intestines. Hell, I once even waited six hours to pee because I didn’t want him to possibly hear the tinkling from the other room, as if he had a cup pressed up against the wall and was listening in.
We would both hold it in for hours, as we talked, watched movies, and made out like nothing was rumbling or gurgling or trapped inside waiting to escape. Sometimes this was after Indian food. It was a struggle.
2. Rambo: First Poop
One day, we were in my room after a couple of breakfast burritos doused in the magic that is 23rd Street Cafe salsa. He’d finished his, while I saved half of mine. It was his mistake. Soon enough, he admitted that he had to shit.
He claimed he could hold it until he got back to his place, like he’d done every other time, but I knew this fateful day was different. I’d never heard him even mention poop before, so just saying this meant he was about to explode. This was my time to strike; to get him to break the poop barrier for the good of our relationship. I pressed on his stomach until he walked out of the room to christen my toilet, defeated.
3. Poop Confidential
A few months later, while he was busy freely taking dumps whenever he wanted, I still felt the need to remain mysterious and girly and non-stinky–at least concerning things done in the bathroom.
I took many precautions, such designating two poo times for myself. I’m often an early riser and morning pooper, so this was a challenge. I would be careful not to eat or drink anything until the coast was clear, afraid I’d accidentally get something churning in there. As soon as he closed that front door to go to class, I knew I was safe, and I’d head to the bathroom in relief.
The second designated poo time was in the evening, when it was time to shower. I’d turn on the water and let it run while I sneakily snuck in some precious toilet minutes. Flushing was the tricky part, and almost gave away my secret a few times. I’d come out and be greeted with a, “Did you poop?” and would quickly change the subject to cats, homework, Roald Dahl’s best book, anything.
All the while, I ignored his ominous, “You’re gonna have to do it one day” remarks.
4. Rambo: First Poop Part Deuce
I don’t quite recall the time and place (probably because I’ve blocked it out of my memory), but there came a time when I finally had to do it. I pooped. And he knew. I believe I yelled, “leave me alone to die!” (at least in my head) as I stormed into the bathroom, pants halfway down my butt, prepared to leave my dignity behind.
When I emerged from the god forsaken room, I was met with an evil smile. He didn’t want to comfort me in my time of need or draw me a bath to help with the trauma. He was only there to say, “Did you just poo? Ewwwww.”
That was it. The shit barrier was burned to the ground in one fell poop.
5. The Pooping Kind
One thing good that came out of this was our openness with poop. Soon enough after my first poo debacle, I became more comfortable with the deed.
He now knows my schedule (I need to drink X amount of water and eat X amount of Greek yogurt half an hour before I leave the apartment to allow enough time for the whole “cleansing” process). He even reminds me to follow it so I don’t have to beg him to stop at a Denny’s in a sweaty, flustered poo rage half an hour later. I now know that getting up from the couch with a “see you later” and phone in hand means he’s going to be doing his business for the next half hour, and that the only acceptable mode of contact is through GIFs sent via text message.
This one is fairly recent. We’ve begun to integrate technology into our routines. There’s this thing called “The SnapChat” that the youth apparently use to exchange #nudes and #dickpics. Well, we’ve discovered a much more practical application. We use it to exchange pictures of our pants around our ankles, mid-poo. Just to let each other know what’s up.
I’m not sure where our poop journey will take us next, but the future is looking bright and shitty, in the best way possible. #dumptwins4ever