Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Nancy Drew and the Mystery of the Man Poop

Warning: This blog post is about excrement. If you do not feel like reading about excrement, then you should probably find another blog post without the word "poop" in the title.

Now, moving on...

I have recently diagnosed E with Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Every time I ask him for help with a messy or unpleasant task with the baby, he gets irritated, and then says he has to go to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, after said task has been completed by yours truly, he reemerges from his man throne. What really annoys me is that he will then offer his help, knowing full well that I have already done whatever it was that needed to be done. At first I believed that it was merely a coincidence, but now I know better. It happens almost every. single. time. I'm on to him. You can't exactly start an argument about bathroom habits, though- especially without hard evidence. And that's not an investigation that I am willing to undertake.

There is a great deal that I understand about men, having grown up with a father and a brother, and being on my fourth male roommate. However, I have never been able to answer that age-old question- What the hell takes them so long in there? Why do they need a half hour bathroom break? Why are stacks of reading material necessary to eliminate bodily waste? Why can't they just get it over with and get on with their lives? What is up with the man poop?

The best explanation I have gotten for this is from my ex's best friend, Wayne. Wayne explained to me that it was like creating a work of art. You spare no time or expense to carefully squeeze out the perfect sculpture. He told me this over dinner, and explained to me that he wasn't just eating a medium-rare filet- he was beginning the work on his next masterpiece, Vincent Van Wayne's Mona Lisa. Needless to say, Wayne doesn't have many friends, and the ex and I just couldn't make it (not entirely because of his choice of friends, but still...)

So if any of you have any answers to this mystery, I am all ears. Until then, I am going to stock my bathroom with a few good books, bubble bath, and a bottle of wine, and pull the "I have to go to the bathroom" card before he can next time.


TheFeministBreeder said...

There is a HI-larious picture on one of my other favorite mommy blogger's sites - it's of her toilet, with a guitar sitting in front of it. Yes, her husband was playing guitar whilst taking a shit.

My husband sits on the toilet so long his legs fall asleep. I'm not kidding. But he knows better than to run in there when I need him. I'd kill him when he came out.

Lois said...

This is one of those ROFL moments - funny because it is so true. Not to mention how well you write! Cheers!

cekryb said...

From man to woman,

the answer is thus: it is the most peaceful place in the whole house people where you can get a moment's peace, at least for me. I know that I can go in there and not be interrupted for various obvious reasons. I actually used to write in the bathroom, aka the porcelain office, just to get some writing done.