Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Potty Humor

Growing up, I always had to share a bathroom with my two sisters. This wasn't a big deal to me, because I'd always done it. When we were little, my sisters used to all be bathed together. This meant we'd play in the water, and as we got a little older, we learned that we could fart in the water and make bubbles; which eventually led to the unspeakable incident of the early 80's where I pushed so hard to try to top my sister's fart, that a three-inch poop invaded our bath water instead. My sisters shrieked, which of course made my mom come down the hall screaming at us. To cover up the incident, I quickly scooped up the fecal matter, threw it in the toilet and my sisters jumped back in the tub with me so that I wouldn't get in trouble.

Sharing a bathroom with two other girls also meant that sitting on a toilet did not mean you deserved privacy. One of us was usually peeing, sometimes pooping, while the others were brushing their teeth, picking a zit or just chatting about boys. It was no big deal.

And so when Sweetie Pie and I moved in together, since I'd already seen him naked and was pretty sure that he'd seen me naked too, considering we'd had sex, I didn't think twice of leaving the door open while I peed, talking to him the entire time.

But he did.

He, of baptist origins, freaked at my vile ways, horrified that the place meant for his penis' pleasure could also be used for such disgusting things as urine.

And I was told in no uncertain terms that I was never, ever to leave the door open while I peed.

I thought this was quite funny but figured that since I had my own quirks like going psycho once a month because of hormonal imbalances caused by my body's angriness at having to shed its uterine lining, I would let him have the no peeing in front of the other rule.

While we were in France, Sweetie Pie and I escaped to the South of France to lounge on beaches baby-free for five-days. This meant that we could drink as much as we wanted, curse as much as we wanted and smoke. In other words, for five glorious days, we turned into sailors. Or teenagers.

One night, we were leaving a restaurant and I'd drank a lot of water and half a pitcher of rose wine. My bladder didn't realize until five minutes after we'd left the restaurant that I really, really needed to pee.

Since the car ride home was going to be an hour long, I knew I wasn't going to make it. So I told Sweetie Pie that we were going to need to use one of the sidewalk bathrooms, non-existent in the United States, but very common in Europe.

Basically, it's this dome-shaped thing where you put coins in the side, a door opens with a hiss, like some futuristic capsule, you walk in, the door closes behind you, you do your business, flush, wash your hands and press a button to get back out. The bathroom is completely disinfected after each person, so it's cleaner than most greasy diners here.

Sweetie Pie said that he actually had to go to the bathroom too, so we began to scrounge our change. And that's when we knew we were in trouble. We only had enough money for one of us to use the bathroom.

"No worries," said Sweetie Pie, convinced he was the bright one in the relationship. "When you open the door after you're done, I'll just sneak in."

I nodded that yes, this was indeed a good idea. Until I remembered the distinct sound of a sprayer/scrubber thingie disinfecting the bathroom after each use. And realized right away that it wouldn't be a good idea for Sweetie Pie to be disinfected along with the bowl.

So we were left with one option. To go in together.

Now, if you've never used one of the bathrooms, let me tell you that they aren't big. Picture an airline bathroom. Now picture two people in it (in a non-mile high club position please). Yeah, it's a tight squeeze.

So after we got in the bathroom and closed the door, I dropped my shorts and Sweetie Pie turned to face the door, still not ready to face the fact that his wife urinates. The whole situation gave me the giggles.

And here's the thing: when I laugh in a seated position without underwear, it invariably makes me fart.

Another one of my quirks.

And as dangerous fumes are noisily coming out of my ass, Sweetie Pie, horrified, tells me that I better not be taking a dump. Which really made me laugh, causing a whole concerto of farts.

Enough to say, there was no sex that night.

Love,

Catwoman.

5 comments:

MartiniGal said...

I love that I now know that you fart when you sit and giggle. Oh the many things I learn about you reading your blog!

Catwoman said...

It's when I sit on a toilet with my pants down AND giggle. That combination alone creates the perfect environment for a fart. It's like the perfect storm in some ways.

Emma in Canada said...

What is it with men? Although mine doesn't care if I leave the door open he absolutely freaks if the baby comes in while he is on the toilet or in the shower. I don't know what he thinks she might see, or if she might be traumatized by seeing his member. He would die if he lived in my friend's house where she, her hubby and their two boys (one 10 and one 14) have been known to have conversations while in various states of undress.

Catwoman said...

It just proves yet again that men are weird.

random_mommy said...

your sisters must REALLY love you. call them and thank them. again. and again. and again.