by Inga
I truly am thankful. I have been smiling and blushing all day. I can't believe that I have been accepted into the poop club. If you only knew what this means to me and my family. I am only a little bit wistful that my mother couldn't share this achievement with me. She would be so proud. Ever since I was a suckling babe, I have been taught the mysterious magic of poop. As I grew older, my mother and aunt spent hours a day with me teaching me everything there is to know about poop. I have contemplated working in the field of poop, as I feel that I am almost ready to rise out of my apprenticeship. Since I was a toddling one, I have practiced our family poop secrets. I hope to share some of these throughout the years.
Our family keeps an ample supply of rubber gloves near the toilet so that we can inspect our feces regularily. Of course, bowel management is vital to good health and we must be sure that the waste content does not include too much mucus or is the right color, etc. ( recurrent yellowish poop can be an indication of improper liver function). I am soon to start my own daughter in this training, for the information must never get lost between generations.
I am just now reminded of what happened to me today. It was so odd that I feel that I must share it with you. I was at work, and had just gotten off the phone with the contractor (more problems at the site) and I had the urge to defacate. I nonchalantly walked past the one and only bathroom (for 13 people) to see if it was vacant. If someone is in there, they usually take awhile as there is a stack of architectural magazines by the toilet. If Tim is in there, we are all doomed, for he takes no less than a half of an hour. Then we can't go in there for another half of an hour because of the fowl stench. When there isn't a stench, I suspect him of other activities which I will not mention. I was in luck this particular day (or so I thought); the bathroom was vacant.
I thought I would be in and out, as I usually am. I have the art of pooping down and don't linger on account of magazines, etc. I like to go in, push is out, and leave. I find that most women I know don't spend too much time in the poop process. Well, I pushed and I thought it was out, as there was a splash. I hate how, especially in public toilets, the poop splashes the water from the bowl back into my butthole. I stood up, wiped, and put on my pants. They wouldn't go on. I was so confused. I reached down and felt around, and there was a big knob of poop hanging off of my butt as if I were my cat or a dog or something. I shook my butt a few times, and it wouldn't get off. I took a piece of toilet paper and tryed to wipe or pull it off, and it wouldn't get off. I took my bare hand, grabbed the knob, and yanked. It wouldn't come off. It seemed to have meshed in it tons of hair and fibers and stuff. It was so wierd. After trying to remove it for about 20 minutes, the boss knocked on the door to tell me that the engineers were here for our meeting. I started sweating... I had forgotten about the meeting. I couldn't go out there like this! I called that I would be right out, and gave a final huge pull. I thought it had come off as part of the chunk was in my hand. It appeared to have some of my anus skin with it, and some blood. I stood on the toilet and looked into the mirror at my butt, and to my horror, the chunk was still there.
You must put yourself in my position. Whatever was I to do? Because I am not new to poop ordeals, I thought fast and came up with a plan. I washed my hands and under my nails as best as I could, and took off my sweater. I pulled my pants up as much as they would go, and tied the sweater around my waste. I flushed everything else down the toilet, and went out to the conference room for the meeting.
I thought that I had outsmarted that soft clay-like brown chunk. I sat down (and felt it nestle between my crack) and commenced with the meeting. This is a rather small conference room and besides myself, there were 7 men. Some of them were sweating and others had the basic minor body odors. The room became unbearable. The heat and sweat and b.o. and, er, my chunk all mingled together to one hot sour smell. I tried to stand to open the window, and the chunk stuck to the chair. I was so desparate that I walked across the room with the chair stuck to my butt. It became quiet and everyone stared. I shrugged and said that the heat was making the chair stick to me. The meeting ended early and I decided to go home. I had to push the car seat all the way back so that the chair and myself would fit into the car. Keep in mind that I have a 40 minute commute. It was hot. I smelled so vile that I puked into my lap. The puke dribbled between my legs and soaked through my pants. There must have been some sort of chemical reaction between my chunk and the acidic vomit, because steamy smoke filled the car. I started speeding so that I could get home, and a cop pulled me over. I rolled the window down (now why didn't I think of that earlier?) and the cop freaked out. After gagging for a few minutes, he retched. Some of his retch spittle flew into the window and some fell into my lap. I have no idea what he ate for lunch, but his retch spittle burned a hole in my pants. He told me to just slow down and get out of here. a contradiction? I sped the remainder of the way home. Getting out of the car was a trick and I tore some more of the succulent anus pucker off. Believe me, that really hurts. I ran inside and looked through our family heirloom poop manuscripts but there was nothing noting my condition. As I started to give up, the chair released itself and clambered to the floor. I sat on the toilet, head in hands, trying to figure out what to do.
Just then a wavering smoky image undulated in front of my face. The smoky steam coming from my butt had decreased, so I couldn't owe the image to that. It took on the form of my mothers gentle face. Just seeing it calmed me. I felt that I was drawn into a spell. She disappeared, and I suddenly knew what to do. I ran downstairs, poop chunk flopping behind me, and got Jon's camp stove. I lit it in the garage, and crouched over it. It krackled and snapped and I heard whistles and bangs as if it were the 4th of July. Smoke and stench was surrounding me, but I started laughing because I knew that I had outsmarted the lob of poop. I laughed and laughed as the fire grew closer to my pucker. I laughed and giggled and then I felt the heat. That sent me into new laughter. The smoke intensified as did the stench, which took on a new scent. I suddenly felt free. I ran to my bathroom and stood on the toilet so that I could turn around and see myself in the mirror. I gleefully saw that the poop rock was gone. Gone was the brown lump. Gone was my smooth puckered shiny anus. In place was a charred bleeding hole. I rubbed it gingerly, fashioned a butt-hole bandaid of sorts (out of Karina's Barney bandaids) and finally pulled my pants up.
I tell you, I am truly the one to be in your poop club. I have outsmarted poop for years. I have studied poop for years. It is in my blood. I feel is within me all the time. I am poop. Poop is me. I killed my poop. I am free.
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