So it finally happened. I have, once again, broken the poop rule. The poop rule obviously being that no one speaks about poop during the beginning of a relationship. While our (yours and mine) courtship has only been a week, I consider the fact that I’ve written 5 posts to be the equivalent of 5 dates. Which is still too early to be talking about poop. But, alas, that is how I do.
So I’m up a half pound this week. This is distressing because I’m trying to lose weight, not gain it. However, I’m comforted by the fact that it is now Monday, and I have not number 2ed since Tuesday. This is not atypical for me, it’s normal to only go once a week, right?
Speaking of bringing up pooping too early- as a freshman in college I was known for quite some time as the “poop-girl.” During our first floor meeting in the dorms, we all had to go around the circle and tell an embarrassing story. The one I chose was from about 2 years prior, during the early stages of my relationship with Sam.
It was one of my first times spending the night at his house, and I woke up in the middle of the night with the worst stomach-cramps. [A little back story: I was 16, he was 19, and he still lived with his parents. His parents didn’t like the fact that we were dating, i.e. sleeping together, at such a young age. My mother, of course, had no qualms.] There was a bathroom directly off of his bedroom, but I couldn’t risk any noise coming out and waking him up. I went upstairs and let loose on the main floor- which was okay because everyone else slept upstairs. It was just after 4:00am, and when I flushed, the toilet clogged nearly instantly. I was saved by the fact that it didn’t overflow, but rather, just didn’t go down. Scared, tired, and not being able to find a plunger- I decided to just run back downstairs hoping no one would realize it was me.
The second I step foot out of the bathroom door, however, I run into his mom eating a bowl of cereal. Crap. I can’t turn back now, she had clearly seen me, and I can’t just keep going because she’ll go in the bathroom and find it. Well, actually I could do the latter, so that’s what I did. I said “hi,” looked down, and bashfully ran back downstairs. Early relationships are so nerve-racking- I surely couldn’t risk him finding out I was human and shat.
2 years later, when a freshman in college, I decided this was the most appropriate story to tell to twenty girls I was meeting for the first time. Why I thought this was the proper time just shows how naive I was. Anyway, basically for the next few months everyone associated me with shit, and I’m pretty sure I was the only one blamed for clogged toilets that year.