A Poop Story

I must insist that you visit Holly's blog today. IT IS ABSOLUTELY HYSTERICAL. And you must read the comments too.

Here's my comment to her to entice you to visit (or really freak you out).

I haven't laughed so hard in ages! Poop and farts stories kill me everytime. Growing up BMs were a regular topic of discussion, a conversation piece I've brought into my marriage. I've even convinced RJ to keep a poop log (from Urban Outfitters) on our toilet in case anyone ever feels the need to share their "success." Anyhoo, my downstairs problems are usually related to constipation rather than explosions. I can't poop in an new environment and it gets particularly bad when traveling. I have many vacation stories of romantic evenings spent alternating between warm baths, plates of prunes, enormous cups of coffee, and just reading on the john praying for some action. SO, as usual, while vacationing in Cabo San Lucas to visit the Blackwell family I didn't poop for more than three days. By day four I felt gross and irritable. Everyone wanted to see me pass something. We spent the afternoon at popular beach swimming and surfing in the warm water. Suddenly while doing casual laps in the ocean, maybe it was the exercise, I looked at RJ and said, "I can poop in here." I knew getting out of the water wouldn't work, so my unbelievably supportive husband swam with me a far distance from the general public (am I a bad person for doing this?). I shimmied out of my bikini bottoms, tossed them to him, allowed him to swim a few yards off, and successfully pooped in the warm Mexican water. Relief!