LARGETONY Blog

I read somewhere that you’re not supposed to read while you’re on the toilet. There’s some sort of belief that it can lead to constipation because your body sort of learns that it will be there a while, so it takes it’s time rather than…well, rather than “shitting and getting off the pot.”

You know, I probably read that while I was on the toilet. I do it all the time. Read on the toilet, I mean. I guess I shouldn’t with the whole potential blockage thing. But I eat oatmeal every day, so I’m probably cool.

But, even with my high-fiber tendencies, occasionally I encounter the Frightened Bean.

You know what I’m talking about. That last little brown one that just won’t take the plunge with the rest of his friends.
So there you sit, just about done. Ready to wrap up business. Then, just as the last bit of cargo is getting unloaded, a small carry on gets caught in the transport. It’s no bigger than a minute, and it feels like it could drop at any moment. But you just can’t seem to get rid of it.

It’s kind of like Chex Mix. Everybody has had it a least once, you just don’t always remember when or where (or if it’s the one with or without peanuts).

I think this is where the constipation theorists might be on to something. My first thought in this situation is generally to just keep reading and, like a kid who has gotten racked up in dodgeball, have faith that eventually it will drop. But if I pick up the book again I’ll probably get wrapped up in it and sit there even longer until I reach a good stopping point. And the bean would still be there.

So instead, my mind and body set on on a mission to determine a method of release. Modus Releavus. I try to pinch the last little bit out, but then I realize that, because of it’s tiny size, it might get pushed back in. I don’t want to walk around with a Goober rolling around inside me.

Plan B-Just wiggle around a little bit on the seat. Surely it will dislodge and reward you with a small but satisfied plop. No. That’s no good. It’s soft enough it might just end up turning into a noodle, like when you roll clay between your palms. I’d rather have a Goober on the loose than have a chocolate tail.

So, why not just take some tissue and wipe it away? Because if it’s hanging in you, it’s a little bit fudgy. It may be only the size of a pea, but when it’s more than a trace, that shit (literally) is only going to get smeared up in your taint and the backside of your balls. Don’t believe me? Think about how much you can do with just a bead of toothpaste in you mouth.

So, I just sit some more. And wait.

That’s when my mind starts to wander and I notice things like the dirty grout in the corner of the shower. Or the way the sunlight coming through the shade makes funny pattern on the sink. Or I start coming up with bizarre hypotheticals.

Like what if suddenly Granny calls for me in an emergency? What do I do? I can’t go running downstairs with my britches down. But if I pull them up, I got Skid Row in my Hanes. I can always wash them later, but what if the emergency requires me to take her to the hospital and I get in a accident on the way. The EMT’s might have to cut my pants off me. How will I explain the Hershey Rorshach Test between my cheeks?

But you know what? Those bizarre “What Ifs” do the trick. My mind goes so far out that I quit focusing on the problem at hand. It’s kind of like an annoying child. If I don’t give it attention, it’ll just go away.

PLOP

Ah. It finally rejoins the rest of it’s party.

Reunited, and it feels so good….

This entry was posted on Wednesday, November 29th, 2006 at 10:51 pm and is filed under observations. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.