The Poop Alibi – S. Jane Gari and Heidi R. Willis

 

 

At fifteen, I went on my first date.  It was a lame “mall date” during which we browsed Spencer’s Gifts, Waldenbooks , Wicks ‘n’ Sticks and some comic book store with a dirty bathroom.  The bathroom was the most memorable part of the date, because I spent at least twenty minutes in there.  It was the heaviest day of my period, and I tend to poop a lot on those days.  Gynecologists will tell you this is normal, as uterine contractions can also activate the shit reflex. 

The business of crapping is unsexy conversation on any date, much less a first date in which the participants are already so uncomfortable with their teenaged bodies, the uneasiness is palpable.  So, while I was in the bathroom, churning out round after round of nastiness, I devised my alibi. 

“Sorry I took so long in there.  The toilet paper roll was broken, and I dropped my compact mirror on the floor.  I couldn’t just leave those shards on the tile.  They could hurt someone.”

Shit Alibis—this is what women are reduced to.  Even at fifteen, I resented this. 

A friend of mine confessed a lifetime of Shit-Alibis that often ran the course of entire relationships.  She once climbed out of a bathroom window, reentered her boyfriend’s house via the front door, and claimed the real culprit for her thirty-minute absence was the desperate need for fresh air.  There were also plenty of times where she simply held her crap in for hours. 

“Why am I sweating and turning red, my darling?  Why, I must have a fever.”

It’s a wonder the poor woman didn’t need medical attention.

As an adult, I’d like to say that I no longer concocted Shit Alibis, but I did.  And farting?  I’d simply hold them in until my glutes and hamstrings were convulsing from the strain.  After a passionate goodnight kiss, that apparently relaxed every muscle in my body, I blamed a silent-but-deadly maneuver on the dumpster in my apartment building complex.

Enough!

No more Shit Alibis!  Men who take issue with a woman passing gas or taking a dump need to get over it.  Those Nineteenth Century rejects who bashed Bridesmaids because they thought women performing toilet humor wasn’t ladylike can kiss my ass—my fully functioning ass. 

I am woman.  Hear me fart!

 

S. Jane Gari and Heidi R. Willis are co-authors of Flush This Book: True Tales of Bodily Malfunctions.  They are currently working on their new project I Am Woman, Hear Me Fart: Stories Only Best Girlfriends Know (www.iamwomanhearmefart.com). 

Their ebook, Flush This Book, is only 99¢ and can be purchased on Amazon.com, BarnesandNoble.com, the Reader Store for Sony Reader, and Apple’s iBookstore for the iPad.  A portion of the proceeds will be donated to the World Toilet Organization (www.worldtoilet.org), a global nonprofit that implements sanitation systems in developing countries in order to prevent the spread of deadly diseases. 

Learn more about the authors and their projects at www.flushthisbook.com  and their blog www.nakedpoop.com.

 

Comments

  1. tracifoust says:

    Squeeze and preach it shitty sista!! I have IBS and have spent more than a few dates having to find a Chevron. Love the bathroom window bit!!

    • So sorry about the IBS- We have a good writer friend who also suffers from the ailment and who wrote a funny guest blog post about it at http://www.nakedpoop.com You’ll probably relate all too well- Her post was last week, so you’ll have to scroll down a bit. I wish you many clean Chevrons!!!

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