We Need A Bowel Movement Ladies
I sat hunched over my desk furiously typing and clicking as fast as I could. My eyes glanced rapid fire between the software loading and the time display in the bottom right hand corner. A new window popped up. I didn’t have to look to know the finished downloading icon was flashing. I hit Ctrl-alt-delete and locked my computer faster than Billy the Kid. The pressure in by abdomen was dangerous. I took a deep breath and clenched my cheeks.
I took the elevator one floor up. I knew I couldn’t trust myself to climb even one flight of stairs. I burst into the bathroom and almost cried when I saw one of the two stalls was occupied. It was quiet. Too quiet. I followed the code. I pretended to wash my hands and left the bathroom. My bowels were on fire. I hit the up button on the elevator. There was another bathroom I could hit up next.
I burst into the second bathroom and thanked every god that it was empty. I unzipped my pants before I even reached the stall, and unleashed my inner demons.
All too soon I heard the door open, and reigned in my bodily functions. I dutifully coughed, and pulled toilet paper loudly off the roll. I sat waiting in agonizing silence, but the other girl did not take the hint. Or her need was greater than my own. Oh shit, I thought, it had come to this. Battle of the Butts.
We both managed to rustle, make enough clearing throat noises, and even pee a little to keep up the pretense that neither of us needed to do our duty. Sweat beaded on my forehead. My nerves can’t take much more of this. I unrolled more toilet paper, signalling my defeat. She had won the right to the restroom. I had evacuated the most urgent bits, the rest would have to wait.
Has this ever happened to you? I definitely don’t claim to speak for all women here, but my hunch is this is an American (or Minnesotan?) woman culture thing. Unless you are in a huge, multi-stall restroom with those thankfully loud hand dryers, you don’t defecate within hearing distance of anyone else. In fact, a hallmark of friendship is whether or not you’ll poop at a friends house. When it comes to the opposite sex, we try our best to maintain the illusion that we do not, in fact, have to use the bathroom except to pee every thirty minutes. This culture we’ve created is hilariously demonstrated in College Humor’s “Why girls don’t fart” video.
I propose that we try and change this. We should not be so prim and proper. We should not be afraid to have ridiculously explosive diarrhea in a public restroom. We should embrace our biology (and probably avoid eating fast food). So I challenge all of you to poop in a public restroom while someone else is in there with you. The mere thought of doing so terrifies me, and yet, I think it needs to be done. What do you guys think? I look forward to the day that someone in the stall next to me slow claps in appreciation for my performance.
P.S. For those of you gals looking for some respite from all the uber-feminine culture, check out TrollXChromosomes on Reddit. You won’t be disappointed.
P.P.S. And just because I feel like it, here is another cat picture – so cute!