I’m going to apologize up front for this entry. Really. It’s dwelling on poo far more than is probably prudent.
You were warned.
I think I got food poisoning from the bagel place this morning.
I stopped in and got a whole wheat bagel with no fat cream cheese and a half French Vanilla Cappuchino/half Hot Cocoa because I’m a wuss and don’t like real coffee but it was 36 degrees and Diet Coke just didn’t seem right.
Now I have the toot splats.
That was probably more than you really wanted to know. But it made me giggle, as all poop euphamisms do.
Have you ever tried to wipe with your opposite hand?
Seven years ago, I dislocated my right shoulder slamming an incredible volleyball spike. I relocated my own shoulder on the volleyball court, played three more games on sheer adrenaline, and then went home and cried in the shower. Then I drove myself to the emergency room where they told me that my shoulder had been dislocated and was now back in the spot it was supposed to be in but I didn’t do it any favors when I went all Iron Woman and played while injured. The next eight weeks were spent in a sling and at the end of week eight, it hurt almost as much as the night I did it. It took roughly six months for it to be normal and a year before I’d venture onto the volleyball court again.
But the butt wiping… before that point, it had been solely a right-handed phenomenon. Thus the left hand had to take over. And that was really difficult but I managed because I had to. I couldn’t really ask Esteban to come in and wipe my ass for me, although he probably would have. So I went leftie and never looked back. Now, I couldn’t go back unless I had to again.
So that must be why I write about poop so much. Stay with me….
Physiologically, the right side of your brain, which is considered the center of verbal creativity, aesthetics, and the like, controls the left side of your body. Thus, one could postulate that because I wipe with my left, I engage the right side of my brain, fixating it upon this task. When I engage my right brain in other things, such as writing, it brings forward all of these poop issues.
There it is. Right there. Proof that the energy I exerted gaining a degree in Psychology did not go to waste.
It’s probably that no-fat cream cheese that did it to me. Maybe it’s that Olestra crap that makes your bowels turn liquid faster than looking at Micheal Jackson sans makeup. Or maybe it was my wussy warm drink. Maybe I’m suffering intense withdrawls from McDonald’s Diet Coke.
Whatever the reason, I’m feeling pretty yucky.
Damned bagel place.
In non-poop related news:
Donny Osmond is going to be on Fear Factor.
Dude!
DOOOOOOOOOOOOOODE!
I am so there!
But then, maybe the genius’ behind Fear Factor will work poo somehow into the equation. You never know.
I will cry if Donny gets poop on himself though. Kelly Preston and the wrestler Chynna can wear all the poop they want, but don’t besmirch the Osmond name, people! I may not be able to actually force myself to watch Donny being covered in worms. Wacky whipped cream from a tossed pie… yes. Worms… no.
November 27th. It will definately be bittersweet.
My god, will this bowel distress ever cease????
