Found this "poop" graffiti in Brooklyn. Bad lighting, big smile.
Last Friday night, I was walking down the stairs of my apartment when my adorable cat dive bombed me on the stairs, making me grin all over. As I reached the lower landing, still smiling, my boyfriend asked "Did you just poop?"
"What? Poop?" I responded.
And he said, rationally, "You look really happy."
This is not abnormal for us. We talk about bathroom stuff a lot. A real lot. I don't want to out him, but I will say that from my desk 60 miles away, I often check social media at a specific time in the mid morning because I know what sites he frequents while he is doing his daily thing in the bathroom. Gross? Maybe. Intriguing? Always.
We also had a grand time during hurricane Sandy learning how to use a neti pot and having an intense ear candling session. The nasty things that are produced from one another's bodies never cease to intrigue us. I am glad it's a two-way street and he never makes me feel like a weirdo. That's love, right? Finding someone who doesn't make you feel like a weirdo?
But really, when it comes to relationships, how much bathroom talk is too much? Should you keep some things private?
When I was younger, I was of the “I don't poop” party when it came to my relationships. But at some point, everything changed. I really can't pinpoint when it was, or why, but I basically decided that if I am comfortable in my relationship -- I know it's not a first date conversation -- then I am comfortable enough to talk about poop.
My poop. Their poop. The cat's poop. Poop is natural, and I guess I am still a bit of a child in this sense, but sometimes poop is funny. Even the word is great. It's a palindrome!
If my partner can't handle a bit of bathroom humor, then we probably aren't a good match anyway. I'm pretty disgusting, and I don't want to date anyone who doesn't think the story about the time I accidentally pooped myself while running is hilarious. Just kidding. I never did that. (I did.)
I am such a fan of bathroom humor that I wrote a screenplay for a film (currently in pre-production, what WHAT!) called “Courtesy Flush.”
Giggling on the train! Probably about poo...
I once held a sort of intervention for a girlfriend who was about to get married. She had been with her fiance for a long time, but they had yet to live together. And not only that, they had yet to talk about poop. Or anything bathroom-related whatsoever. As far as her fiance was concerned, my friend just didn't excrete. Anything. Ever.
I was so disturbed by this, I tried to tell my friend that she absolutely must not, can not, marry someone without having addressed this monumental part of life first. Soon they would be smashed together in a one-bedroom apartment. If she couldn't feel comfortable enough going about her business, ALL of her business, in her place of residence with her husband, she was sure to develop some intense poop-phobia or chronic constipation that leads to divorce. I was just sure of it.
Three summers ago, I was hanging out in my parent's garden with my then three-year-old cousin, Charlie. We were just digging in the dirt, when he popped up on his little toddler legs, a big ol' smile on his face, and declared “I have to poop! I am SO excited!” He then ran off in the direction of the house.
I wonder when we lose that sort of excitement about our bodily functions? When do we learn that they are embarrassing?
Don't get me wrong. There are limits. I am not trying to get all up in the bathroom after my boyfriend has been in there and sniff him out or anything. Privacy is crucial. But I am all for a good post-poop high-five. After he has washed his hands, of course.
So tell me how much poop talk is okay? What are your limits? Once you have kids, it doesn't even matter anymore, right? I need to know this stuff! Oh, and follow me on Twitter
if you want to cyber snuggle or tell me I am disgusting.