Deuces Wild

The Atkins diet makes me unspeakably sick. Admittedly, to begin this post with “unspeakable” borders on lying because in fact I am going to speak about it. We’re talking Number Two.
(It’s titled, “Deuces Wild” so you thought it was gonna be about Poker? Think about it; I’ve been hanging with fundies for nearly FIFTEEN YEARS. I haven’t played cards in weeks.)

Logician-Physicians Chris Turk and John Dorian allege that “Everything comes down to pooh.” My own dear SIL has an Apples to Apples philosophy that “Poop always wins” (but IS there a “Poop” card, really? I think he’s full of crap.)
Even the President poops, but in the World According to Savant, Number Two is mathematically underappreciated.
From a certain perspective poop deserves a higher appraisal b/c of it’s Fearsomeness. Some peeps don’t talk about dung, ever. Those peeps should look away now.

Another population finds scatology to be inherently humorous and may remark about pooh to varying degrees for varying reasons. I embrace this concept and appreciate laughter for occasional cracks about ka-ka.

A third and largely ignored sub-sect exists, lurking in shadows, living in shame, keeping a secret; they are Nervous Poopers. I am one of them.

What’s the BD about BM? I’m going to break it down (figuratively speaking, not at the enzymatic level.) I know we can talk about this., because we’re friends (and it can’t possibly be as bad as posts about my cats.)

In my formative years our fam often had large gatherings at Gram’s house with feasting and libations. The bathroom was adjacent to the dining room, SO near in fact, that guests had to rise from the table to allow entrance/exit from The Can.
No amount of Powder Fresh could Right that Wrong, and Gram’s dining room often smelled like a perfumed hobo.
Option #2 for #2 was the embodiment of Polish thinking; a toilet smack dab in the middle of the basement. No walls. No doors.
No way.
I Held, because the options were unthinkable for an Anxious Dumper. (Unfortunately, half-breed cousins and druncles were unrestrained.)

In the early stages of a relationship it’s often necessary for an NP to get away for Secret Special Moments. (Read; run needless errands in order to Poop Elsewhere.)
Why do you think Hollywood’s version of The Morning After consistently includes coffee and bagels from the corner shop?
Even Michael Weston stepped out the morning after he fell into bed with Fiona.
The libidinous Grey’s Anatomy doctors are dumping all over Seattle.
Carrie left Mr. Big when she had to Make.
It’s a Little Known Fact that the working title for “Sex and the City” was “Oh, The Places You’ll Go.” (Never minding the beloved Theo Giesel.) Sisterhood and relationship angst won out over Anxious Dumping with test audiences. Carrie’s Fecal Neurosis never made it to air.
Cottonelle never got the product placement they hoped for, but Manolo Blahnik loves SJP.

Once you’re whole hog into a relationship (by that I mean married) there’s no need to overcome Excremental Retardation. Continue to obsess about pooping. Embrace your anxiety.
Never EVER allow an open door policy on crapping. No amount of Smoke ‘n Mirrors can erase that mental picture next time you wanna get cozy with your Stud. (It’ll be truly Not-so-Studly once you’ve seen him reading “Men’s Health” in the Thinker Pose.)

I am comfortable and fully committed to managing a lifetime of Dungutorial Disquiet. The turning point came while I was in college.
My BFF had to haul her kid out of a play bath so I could use the facilities. Kid asked “Why not just close the curtain and she can Go.”
BFF replied, “She has to go the ‘Long Time,’ and you can’t be in here.”
D*mn straight.
My fate was sealed. Once you start making demands on others’ proximity you’re corrupted by the power. You’re no longer holding, you’re dictating.
I want a fifteen foot perimeter, a minimum of two doors and a loud fan between me and any conscious person.

Nervous Poopers are Perfectly Normal. Everyone Else has the problem.
Never mind the fact that you’ll never crap in a house where another soul is awake.

They don't call it Morning Constitutional for nothin'.