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Me vs. Pooping In Public

So, in a recent rambling post earlier this week I referred to the fact that I have a poop problem.

It’s true. I absolutely HATE to poop in public.

I will literally do anything to avoid dropping the kids off at the pool in a public venue.

I don’t think it has anything to do with OCD tendencies, but has everything to do with the fact that I want no proof that I actually do poop.

Which is ironic given that I’m writing this post.

And, that if you ask me to strip nude and run across a football field, I wouldn’t hesitate for a second.

Dare me to shit in a Wal-Mart bathroom and I’ll quickly opt to slam my head in a door for hours at a time.

True story:

I was the editor of a weekly newspaper, 24 years old, and shooting a triathlon at the YMCA one Saturday morning.

The race was winding down when all of a sudden I got that grumble. Yeah…THAT grumble.

The one where your internal bits-n-pieces flick you in the forehead and say “t-minus 10 minutes ya douche. Find a bathroom pronto or you’ll pay!”

I look over at the beautiful 2-year-old YMCA building and consider walking in to enjoy the elegant lavatory facilities, but pass.

In my psychotic mind I’m all “No….I gotta make it back to the empty newspaper headquarters to unleash the fury.”

Only, I needed to drop off the roll of film I just shot (yes, this was pre digital cameras) and then drive another 15 minutes to the offices.

Jump to 10 minutes later…the film has been dropped off, I’m 6 miles and 18 traffic lights from the office, pounding the steering wheel with closed fists while screaming “I can’t fucking hold it in!!!!” and in my mind seriously considering just letting it go.

I didn’t…..

I held it…..


I made it.

And when I sat down…let’s just say I made Niagara Falls look like a rookie.

I’ll save you further details but reveal that six hours later I had visited the doctor’s office and was standing at the pharmacy to pick up suppositories to help with the tiny rip I had from the massive exodus of poo that fire-hosed out of my “exit tunnel.”

In short, my balloon knot had been slightly damaged.

And there you have it…

I don’t like to poop in public. There are so so so many more stories…but for now, I leave you traumatized with that one.

Sweet dreams!



Daddy!!! I Really Gotta Go!

My time on the big white throne is exactly how you’ve seen it portrayed in movies about families.

Man grabs newspaper, closes door, finds comfort on the throne, and just as his business is about to begin a knock comes at the door followed by thumping from a little kid jumping up and down and saying, “daddy, I REALLY gotta go!”

There’s four of us in this happy little perfect family and only one toilet in our delightful estate.

The boy never lifts the seat.

The daughter never, NEVER flushes. Even when it’s brown she doesn’t flush it down.

The wifey…well, she’s the smart one in the family. She’s managed to get herself on a cycle that fits perfectly into the times of the day when the kids’ bowels and bladders are empty.

The rest of us are like teenage girls in a dorm suite – we’re all on the exact same cycle.

And me, well…I’ve learned to poop at mach speed.

I can pee, brush my teeth and put deodorant on at the same time.

Nine out of ten times that I leave the bathroom the first thing my kids say before running in is “did you spray daddy?!?”

“My shit doesn’t stink!!!” is what I want to yell, but instead I chalk up another interrupted bathroom moment and just mutter, “yes child-of-mine, I did,” as I hang my head low and stumble away.

Then I think to the future, when the boy becomes…well, not a boy. I think of how the bathroom was my safe-haven, as a teenager, for taking care of “personal deeds.”

There’s something to be said for going into the bathroom in your own home and knowing if there’s anything that shows-up on a blacklight it’s because you put it there, not someone else.

But we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.

In the meantime, all I ask for is:

  • Enough time to poop and play a game of Sudoku (easy mode) without being interrupted.
  • To pull the curtain back on the shower and actually have my towel be there instead of wrapped around my wife’s head in the other room.
  • To not view my daughter’s “boom boom” floating happily in my toilet.
  • And to brush my teeth early in the morning without having to see my son come racing into the bathroom with his miniature morning wood and witness him hose down every square inch of my toilet while screaming, “don’t look daddy I need privacy!!!!”

That’s it…nothing more.