It strikes me as peculiar that an action so absolutely necessary has such long-held stigma attached to it within the female population (of course it could just be me) and I don’t quite know how or why it began. And The Girl has inherited the same kind of reluctance to perform this natural action in public places as I have always had – however I now see a light at the end of my personal U-bend.
For men, the humiliation of having left a scud missile at the base of the pan in any toilet; public or personal, seems to be not only non-existent but an actual continued source of merriment. I don’t think I’ve ever in my entire (a v-e-r-y-l-o-n-g-t-i-m-e) life uttered those immortal words “I wouldn’t go in there just yet love, I’d leave it a few minutes *snort*”. Yes, there’s always a snort or a guffaw appended isn’t there? Like it’s some kind of Manly Feat to have left a god-awful stink in your wake. Oh, what - is this supposed to PROVE something? A male who leaves the biggest poo in the loo will be the most fertile or something? This could explain the territorial–like pissing round the porcelain though.
I am digressing. But not much.
I’ve been trying to establish the actual ‘feelings’ I have when I am faced with the knowledge that I ‘have to go’ – wherever I am. Home is not a biggie *snort*. Nobody minds if you poo in the comfort of your own space – in fact it’s positively encouraged at home. We discuss poos much like we discuss what we’ve been watching on the telly or what we fancy to eat later. There’s no recoiling in horror and pointing fingers of shame or disgust here. So why do we imagine (okay why do I imagine) that this will happen in public? Why does it always feel like the Poo Police will be straight onto me if I so much as fart in a public cubicle?
Is it because I want to give off the impression that I don’t ‘do that sort of thing’? Um.. hello? What are you, some kind of Virgin Poo-Mary? Do you seriously imagine that other people look at you like a kind of goddess of all that is Good and Nice and Clean and hence un-shat? Why on earth should I have a problem with people knowing that I *ahem* clear my bowels. There I said it. I empty my bowels. You got a problem with that?
Does this sound familiar? I won’t follow anyone into the loos if I know I need to Go. I’ll wait. Like some kind of bunged-up Ninja desperate for a five minute window in which to vent her spleen. Bowel. Whatever. You know what I mean. And if the coast’s clear then I’ll hare in like I have the hounds of hell at my heels… because who knows how long I might have before someone else comes in? And then if they hear any ploppy noises or farty noises then what ARE they going to think of me?! (I don’t know: what ARE they going to think? That you’re NORMAL maybe – ffs, get a grip woman!). But then they’d never know these noises belonged to me because if this does happen, then I’ll remain in said cubicle until I know there’s nobody outside. I know, I’m clever like that; I have honed these skills to within an inch. I can tell you from a click of a heel the name of the person who’s just arrived or left. Oh yeah. I’m THAT good.
And if it so happens that somebody comes in just after my ‘transaction’, say when I’m washing my hands or something, then I have a line all ready and waiting for them should they happen to notice any foul odours in the air and say disgustedly: “Eeeew who the hell dropped THAT!” (not that I know of any female who might even utter these words – that’s more blokey, right?) My response goes: “Oh god, I know, it was like that when I came in… I’d avoid cubicle three if I were you” and titter girlishly. Because that’s the way we roll, us females.
Whereas a bloke would probably (I don’t know I’ve never thankfully been into a Gents following a Fallout) (oh, or at ANY OTHER TIME I should add) grab the newly-arrived visitor by the hand… no, more like sleeve and draw his attention very sportingly to his recently departed dinner which still remains on full public display beneath the waters and challenge the newbie to produce something GREATER. G’awaaan – if you think you’re MAN enough!
This blog post was brought to you by the XXL thing I found the other week (twice in one week actually, so somebody was clearly getting their roughage ratio right) which made me marvel that the last time something that big left my body I put some bootees on it and called it Alice.
And yes I know the perp, but do I look at her when we pass in the corridor and think “I know what you did in the loos”?