A Day in the Life of My Toilet!

     I have been on my diet, sorry, healthy eating program blah, blah, blah for alost 6 weeks.  It has been going well, I am losing weight, inches, I am firming up, and I have gained some extra energy, yehaw!   I have recovered from the I can't eat anything! on this diet, to It's really not so bad.  I have become very creative with food options.  Zucchini makes a great alternative to pasta.  I made a particularly yummy lasagna the other day.  There was no pasta in sight.  I cut 3 zucchinis very thin and layered them the same way I would lasagna noodles.  It turned out great, even my son and husband thought it was delicious.   Who knew mashed cauliflower could be an alternative for mashed potatoes?  It is, and it's fantastic.       With all of my fiber consumption, I would have imagined pooping would be easy.   I can only assume my body is in a state of shock from this diet that it's hanging on to everything for dear life!  I go about my morning and I feel that familiar need to go.  So, off I toddle to the bathroom.  I used to pride myself in how efficient I was.  In and out and onto something new.  Not now.  
     I have learned recently, that this experience can't be rushed.  I have learned that hemorrhoids are not fun.  During my pregnancies and subsequent births of 2 large babies, I never had a hemorrhoid.  Not even an indication of one.  Now, I have them (yes, there is more than 1) residing on my anus.   I am contemplating charging them rent.  As I sit patiently now, and wait, I try to hum or read to get my mind off of the waiting.   Waiting is very dangerous for me.  My mind wanders, and it should never go anywhere, unattended.   Sometimes, as I sit and wait for the big event, I think of that little boy from the movie Kindergarten Cop,   Arnold Schwarzenegger complains he has a headache.  One kid says "Maybe you have a tumor!"  I hear that kid say that to me as I sit and wait.  "Maybe you have a tumor, oh, there's a whole bunch, maybe you have a lot of tumors!"  I begin humming at that point.  Soft, barely there humming, but as I wait, and wait, it becomes louder and louder until I am singing like my friend Donna at karaoke.   (Sorry Donna, for sticking you in my poop blog!)  She belts it out when she sings.  My songs, become loud and emotional as I sit...Paul McCartney and Wings, With a Little Luck, is part of my repertoire.
 "With a little luck, we can help it out.
We can make this whole damn thing come out.
With a little love, we can lay it down, I can feel my bum exploding?"
Or, sometimes I sing Eric Carmen, All by Myself. 
"When I was young, I never needed any help.
But now, pooping me makes my yelp.
Pooping quickly in the john. 
Those days are gone-
I'm constipated, don't want to be-
constipated, anymore!"

When singing doesn't work, I try to bargain with my bum.  "Ppllllleeeeaasssee com out, I'll treat you good, I'll use a wet wipe, no dry, scratchy toilet paper for you, and if you are really good, I'll throw in a medicated Tucks pad for after.  Ppllllleeeeaasssee come out!"

     That never works either.  By this time, my magazine has been flipped through, and my singing voice is shot.  So, the only thing left is my imagination.  Like I said before, my mind should never wander places where it has no business, especially alone.

I begin to imagine I have a construction crew working on my bum.  "Okay Fred, bring it over here.  See this red mound of lumps, it's gotta go in there."  Fred climbs down off of his escavator to take a look.  He begins rubbing the 2 day stubble on his chin.  "It's pretty tight in there, I'm going to have really dig to get that sh*t out of there!"  "Go ahead Fred. "  says the burly little foreman with the white hat, "We gotta get going, we gotta get to the next job."  Fred drops the bucket of the escavator and begins to dig.  "Ahhh,  no good, boss, you got any dynamite?"  

By now, my bum is on fire and my patience is too.  I get off the toilet and pull up my pants.  This scenario goes on about 4 times during the day.  Eventually, I sit down, and become very cross with my bum and begin chastising it like I would a child.  "Now, you are going to behave!  I am through with your foolishness!  Get pooping or I will spank you!"  By this point, I pucker my sphincter muscle closed.  Well, I try to anyway.  "Yeeoooww!!!  What is that?  A one ton laser rocket shooting out of my arse?"  Then, I am rewarded with the sound of a small plop.  Oh, there goes my mind wandering again.  "Gee Bob, that wasn't the dive we're used to seeing from this athlete.   Her caliber of dives are usually better than this.  She was supposed to do a three and a half backwards somersault, followed by a sideways twist.  We just witnessed a belly flop!"  " You're right Susan, but the splash!  It was barely there for such a pitiful dive!"

     I finish the job, as well as the paperwork.   I look into the toilet, I need to see the monster that almost ripped me in half.  I see tiny little rabbit poops.  Hmmm!   I can't believe these little things caused so much fuss.

     I really need more fiber and more water.  I'll flush that sh*t out of me, and then I'll flush it down the toilet. 

     My bum burns for an hour after, and I know it's going to threaten me if I even glance at the stationary bike in the corner.  "I know,  I know!"  I whine.  

     So, if anyone asks how my diet is going, I always tell them it's going great.  The truth is, I can't sh*t my way through a wet paper bag, my anus is vying for the Guineas World Book of Records, largest cluster of hemorrhoids, or land mass, whichever, and my toilet has seen more full moon than the Russian astronauts.  But, my healthy eating plan, is going great!

     Tomorrow promises to be a new day, here's hoping it's a good one.