Oh Poop

This may be a case of TMI for some of you, and if so I apologize in advance. If you live by the axiom "Bodily functions are never funny" I suggest you stop reading here. For those of you who have been known to occasionally giggle after letting out a little fart…read on. But be warned, this is not for the faint of heart (heehee, say that twenty times fast.)

The Hub and I have recently moved into a new apartment with a…let's just call it… interesting feature. I'm talking about a flat-bottomed toilet bowl, people. This may not sound so comment-worthy right off the bat.

Let me explain further.

The flat part is right where, umm, stuff lands. And it is above the water line. You starting to get the picture? It's like shitting on a plate. It lands with not so much of a ker-splash as a dull thud. Disconcerting, to say the least.

Maybe it's a water saving device? Or perhaps just a temporary dogleg in the (ahem) annals of toilet engineering? After all, everything else in this apartment is circa 1962, so maybe the flat-bottomed toilet was all the rage that year.

The first thing you learn when living with this idiosyncrasy is that the water in an ordinary toilet acts as an odor catcher. Maybe it doesn't do a perfect job, but trust me on this one folks, you are better off with the water barrier than you are without it. Suddenly I find myself courtesy flushing as a courtesy to my own self.

Consequently our bathroom is now equipped with several options for combating odor: candles, incense, potpourri, several choices of industrial strength air freshener and a good old-fashioned pack of matches. Sometimes the oldest and simplest techniques are the best ones, eh?

The new throne has added a previously undiscovered, low brand humor to our household. Upon exiting the WC, the husband* now remarks upon volume. Though this is nothing new, as he has been announcing volumes like a proud poppa announcing the birth of his progeny for years. (4 lbs 2 oz, 11 inches long!) The new wrinkle is the commentary on shapes. The Fire hose. A Campfire. The Perfect pretzel. I found this funny. At first. It was only when he crossed the line into ground beef products (chilli, meatballs, sloppy joes) that I began to object. I also started cooking a lot more chicken.

(*Let's assume for the purposes of this essay the "the husband" is a fictional character, as any actual husbands may experience alarming levels of mortification if comments above were to be credited to him publicly.)

Trying to look on the bright side, I can imagine there are medical benefits. How many times has a doctor asked you about the color and consistency of your, um, BM? How many times have you been stymied by the question? Almost as ashamed to admit you haven't been examining it as you would be by admitting you have. Well with the new flat bottom…you really don't have a choice. It's there. I mean THERE. Sitting on the plate-like bottom, in all its stinky glory, practically begging to be admired and commented upon. I am tempted to make us appointments with a Gastroenterologist simply because we could now furnish him with such detail and in-depth analysis he would be astounded. We might make medical history! Certainly a journal article or two?

So for better or worse, the flat-bottomed commode has made poop a daily topic of conversation for us. Well, daily, when things are running smoothly. Thank goodness we aren't faint of heart.

-k.