Everyone does it. The President, the Pope, your favorite author (meaning me)…we all poop. However, why is it that we can’t just openly talk about our bowel movements and not so movements?

We all have a story about a time when we thought we were going to soil our pants if we didn’t find a bathroom. We all have experineced having a major attack of the squarts. Yet, we still aren’t really supposed to discuss it.

I don’t know about you, but I feel better when I have someone in my life I can talk to about pooping. It’s like one of those private things we all do and I am thrilled I can feel so comfortable around someone to say, “hey, I got a turtle head poking.”

I am not suggesting that we should all walk around to our loved ones and discuss in detail our bowel movements. It shouldn’t be a daily conversation.

But what about all those not so daily shitty moments? Why can’t we just tell people about them?

Just the other day I had one such tale and you know what…I am going to tell you it. THAT is how much I love you.

I can’t eat garlic. The running joke is I am a vampire because I get real sick in the sunlight and I can’t eat garlic. I mean, one time, I ate fresh garlic and I swear I thought my stomach was going to explode right out of my abs. I was doubled over in pain and I almost didn’t make it to the bathroom. I was lucky that the bathrrom did have some great reading material (I think there may have been a FingerHut advertisment). However, it was still pretty rough. I was in the bathroom so long that they kept knocking on the door to make sure I wasn’t dead a la Elvis style. After that, every time there was garlic in something, I was fullywarned not to eat it.

So, on Saturday (the day of the parking ticket) I go to the Philadelphia Fish Company and order up some tuna. This food was so great. It was like slap your moma’s moma good. I wanted to marry the person who created this spank-tacular meal. It was lick the plate and the fork and knife you used to eat with good. I wanted to make love to the meal. (You get the hint that it was good, right?)

I am sitting there drinking tea and eating ice cream and I start to feel the rumblings in my belly. I tilt my head to the side and wonder, “did I just consume garlic?” Nah. My future husband or wife (I was marrying the person who made my food…I don’t really care about the gender at this point) wouldn’t do that to me. He or she would know that I can’t eat garlic.

The rumblings go away, but I know that I have to pee. I think I am safe.

It’s me we are talking about and things just aren’t that easy for me.

I pee (in a toliet…not my pants) and bundle back up (gloves, scarf, finger puppets). Then my stomach says, “Hey Girlfriend…we won’t make the trip home. Could you go ahead and go poop?”

So, I unbundle and run right back in the toliet and proceed to…how do the kids say it now…blow that bathroom up?

I had to have a discussion with my stomach to see if and when it was ready to make the 20 minute ride home. I also had like two false starts.

Finally, my stomach is like, “Okay girlfriend, if you promise to get me home in like 20 minutes, I promise I won’t make you poop your pants.”

We had a deal and I am happy to report that both parties kept their agreements.

Now seriously, why can’t I tell people about this story? It’s funny and we all have that experience. But yet, people look at you like you have baby monkeys flying out of your ears if you talk about poop. Why is it so taboo?