I cannot believe I forgot to tell you guys this. Maybe it’s because it was awful enough to experience and therefore, nearly traumatic to re-live here. But re-live it I will – just for you guys.
Never question my love for you again, mkay?
Alright….sooo…you know how I hate P words – mainly the big one…POOP.
I hate the act of it, doing it, thinking of everyone doing it, ALL of it.
If a magic fairy asked me if I could have a choice between never pooping again and never having a period again – I’d pick the pooping. Hands freaking down.
Because I hate the POOP and everything associated with it – it haunts me.
Follows me around. Taunts me at every turn.
Even at formal board meetings.
Enter Monday night’s meeting.
We are all sitting at our places waiting for one more guy. He has a spot next to me. He comes in – takes his coat off – and doesn’t sit down. He kind of whispers to me….OMG – my stomach is in knots!
I want to say, “ WHY THE F*CK ARE YOU TELLING ME THIS???” but I think inside I know.
And now I’m scared.
He says to everyone, “Go ahead and start the meeting. I have to use the restroom.”
Rambo says, “No problem. We can wait.”
To which this guy says, “Nope. Don’t wait.”
Which is code for “I’m not peeing. I’m going to be longer than a few seconds. I’M GOING TO TAKE A LARGE CRAP! Go on without me.”
Instant hives for me, spank you very much.
I seriously contemplated crying.
I thought of screaming, "Wake up! We're not just going to sit here while he poops, are we? Well, are we?"
But none of them even gave his pooping a second thought. Because they all have penises.
Now listen – you have to understand we are in an old town hall building. Like smells like mold, has documents from the 1800s in it, has mint green walls and one tiny bathroom.
RIGHT BEHIND WHERE I AM SITTING.
Literally – I can turn in my chair and touch the restroom door.
The restroom door where behind it a respected business man is pooping.
While I pretend to focus on a meeting.
While I try not to cry and gag and run screaming from the room.
Now Rambo knows of my hate for poop so he’s doing his best not to look at me because if he does he’s going to bust a gut laughing his ass off.
I hate him.
It is not bad enough that all day I have to literally HEAR men exploding in the bathroom outside my office at work but NOW? At official board meetings too?
In an OLD building – with a toilet only feet from me – s
urrounded by OLD, NON-SOUNDPROOFED walls.
I cannot deal.
I swear to you I was praying to God to not let me have to HEAR a fellow board member while he crapped at a board meeting I was presiding over.
I prayed that Rambo would never stop talking so that it would make the SOUNDS un-hearable.
So far, so good. I heard nothing.
Smelling? Now that’s a whole different thing. I can't even bring myself to discuss it.
I still can’t get over it. I just can’t.
Rambo is still giving me “shit” about it. He thinks it’s hysterical.
I do not.
I had to smell a board member’s crap.
I don’t understand this double standard for men.
They sleep with a million women and we call them a stud while we get called sluts and I can live with that but this pooping double standard – is enough to drive me cray-cray.
Can you literally imagine if a woman walked into to a boardroom – or me – and set my stuff down and said, “Hold up boys. I’ve got a turtle-head poking out and I’ve gotta drop the kids off at the pool. Don’t mind me or the stench…go on without me. I’ll be alright in there.”
Imagine the looks. The disrespect. The grossed-out-ness at me. The I-can-no-longer-look-at-you-as-a-woman-anymore thoughts. They would never forget that I did that….
It’s fine because no woman would ever do that. I think anyway. I have a friend on my FB that literally puts things in her status like, “I took a good dump today and it felt so good.”
Excuse me???? Are you serious? Women should not use the word dump nor should they announce when they do it. Your HUSBAND reads that. Do you think it makes him want to sleep with you? When you tell me you’re having marriage issues and you think he’s not attracted to you – um – duh.
Wait. No. Don’t stop pooping.
Just stop talking about it!
Please if you could – feel sorry for me for a moment. Okay?
Lastly – I want to report that I told Banana, the 7 year old with the attitude of a blind crotchety 90 year old woman with no legs – to pick her two tiny socks up off the floor.
I told her once and all I got was a really loud, “UUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGHHHHH!”
So I told her again and then I got, “YOU ARE THE MEANEST MOM IN THE WHOLE WORLD!” as she picked them up and threw them in her room.
Hmmm. Asking someone to pick up their socks is mean.
Did you guys know that?
I was too tired to even fight. I just said,
“You just wait. Later on I’m going to ask you to put your fork in the sink. Get ready.”
Jesus balls. Where the hell is the Calgon?