“I Know Poops”

Ok. That’s not a fair title. I know……….my…………poops. Catchy enough title for today? I figured I’d bust out early in my blog career with a subject that could seem to be, ummmmm, borderline TMI. I see what you did there.

Anyways, after the age of about [insert age you stop shitting in your pants], you basically see every single shit you ever take. Don’t act like you just wipe and walk away. You know you look too as you’re turning to flush. So, it’s a fair assessment. I know my poops. And if you ask anyone that knows me, I take a lot of them. Well, semantically speaking, I leave a lot of them. Unless of course you were sitting with me before I moved to the bathroom, so technically I would be taking my crap away from you. But then, alas, semantically I would still be leaving it in the plumbing.

The point is that I’m well studied in my poops. We’ve all seen the funny T-shirt, or funny e-mail forward, that gives humorous names for poops. I could bite off that list and give a similar list, and maybe that’s where you thought this post was going. But I’m more focused on my intimate knowledge of my specific poops.

There’s the Sunday morning after the big Saturday night, apparently I digested sulfur in some form, poop.

There’s the hot wing, oh my God it still hurts on the way out, poop.

There’s the corn……..self explanatory.

There’s the Tuesday morning after Monday Night Football, you drank too much cheap light beer with a bad CO2 setting at a dive bar, holy crap it’s green, poop.

There’s the lactose intolerant, had too much milk and cheese, more like a stopper plug that when removed simply turns into something akin to pouring coffee, poop.

There’s the ate a lot of fatty red meat, oh I see where they get the phrase "what crawled up your ass and died", poop.

I could go on and on. Hey, this is borderline TMI, right? But the point is, I know my poops. And through 30+ years of study, I pretty much have a nickname and knowledge of all of them.

[insert that movie preview super deep voice guy again, two posts in a row, I apparently have a thing for him] UNTIL NOW!!!!!!

Recently, my wife, was out of town for a week. She’s a teacher, and dammit if she doesn’t get paid for 12 months a year and only work for 9! She spent some of her hard earned summer off on the road visiting family. Well, I’m all grown up now – so wife out of town doesn’t mean what it used to! Half kidding, but no more drinking all week, taking a hangover day off work, no more dinners at Hooters, or even (gasp) trips to the local strip club. Note, I live in VA, so they’re more like bikini clubs. Don’t judge me. Anyways……….my point here wasn’t to get into my behavior with the honey out of town. It was that not only did I decide I wasn’t going to be an immature asshole with her out of town, I wasn’t going to spend a ton of money. Which, as many of you can agree I’m sure, wife out of town : immature asshole : spending, is a fairly proportionally equivalent ratio. So this time, not only was I not going to be a 30ish year old guy trying to relive some college drinking stories and be a total douchebag for a week, I was going to be well behaved financially all around for the week.

Then, I took the financial challenge to a slightly different level. I was going to eat right for the week too. (financial driver here suggested no work lunches out) Well, if any of you know me, you know I don’t just sort of do something. If I’m into it, I really do it. So, this little self-mini-challenge went big. Save money for a week. Eat on pennies from the grocery store with 21 carefully planned meals for the week. And eat right. Like, Men’s Health magazine right.

Well, before you think I’ve gone too far off task. I hope to not make too many assumptions about the clarity with which I write, or the forethought of any of my reader(s) – but I hope you see where this is going. So I ate well, REAL WELL for a week. Salads, wheat bread, fish, wheat pasta, fruit, veggies, you name it. Let’s just say, by about day 3 of the week, when it had a couple days of eating perfectly to settle through my system, I was very scared. I don’t know who was sneaking behind me where I was sitting in the bathroom and taking a shit in the toilet behind me when it felt like I was actually shitting……but that sure as hell wasn’t my poop in the toilet for a couple days. I know it wasn’t, because I know my poops.