We all have our weird hang ups, my girlfriend, we’ll call her Poops Ahoy, is obsessed with you guessed it, pooping. I’ve never seen anyone more interested in toilet reports than her. She’s even told me that sitting in a toilet stall is her quiet place at work. Has even boasted how she’s been overflowing toilets since she was a little girl. That’s when you know you’ve been with someone a long time. When they don’t hesitate to reveal something like that. Lucky me.
But wait there’s more. No I don’t mean what’s coming out of her butt. I meant there’s more to be told. No not about her pooping, although I’m sure I’ll get around to that. I.mean more to the story…no not about her taking a dump…actually yeah, this kinda is, there’s just no way to do this without making it sound weird and dirty. Wish she were more like that in the bedroom. Weird and dirty I mean, sexually, not poop wise, although taking a dump in the bedroom is weird and very dirty. She even told me she doesn’t like to wipe. I told her she damn well will. She said she does but how do you test that? It’s nor like someone checking under your fingernails for dirt. Shakes head) Moving on. Poops Ahoy has made clear that when we finally build a house she’s going to drag me to every place toilets are sold in order to pick the exact right throne from which she will rule. A place where she can comfortably spend many happy hours cranking out a brown shark.
How?
Her search for the shithouse than can go the distance with her will begin with asking the unfortunate pooper salesman 100 questions, at a minimum. Then she plans to sit on each and every one in order to make sure it comfortably fits her heinie. In public. The way she sees it, it’s not like there are any fitting rooms. (Groan) Have I said what a lucky man I am? Yeah right. I wonder if there’s a place to trade in old girfriends for a newer model.
Anyhoo…Poops Ahoy reminds me of Al Bundy and his mission to build his own bathroom complete with a Ferguson toilet. I don’t know if those exist, to most of us a toilet’s a toilet, but not to Poops Ahoy. To her it has to be white and with the flush power of a jet engine. None of those Al Gore toilets for her. Like Al Bundy, she wants a bowl she can proudly show to visitors and say, “the flush will suck your arm right down.” Like one of those from high school. Why doesn’t she just go to one, find out the name of the brand and buy one? Probably because that would be too easy and that way she can’t take me along on her quest to find the Holy Grail of crappers. Apartment living suddenly doesn’t look so bad.
Until next time, remember to flush.
A Fifth of Brian 