They say curiosity is healthy but this curiosity leant more towards unhygienic than anything else.
At seven, my best friend and I decided that we should figure out one of life’s great mysteries; how does the poo come out? It was before the days of Google and, without having parents who were comfortable uttering the word ‘bottom’ let alone ‘sphincter’, we had decided that old-fashioned observation would be the best way to find the answer to our poo query. I can’t remember what it was that we expected to be able to deduce from observing each other poo, but we were seven and naturally hadn’t given it a lot of thought.
I felt the urge to poo first. I squatted pant-less above the toilet with my best friends’ face about ten centimeters from my rear end.
I gave a verbal description of my internal workings while my friend reported her observations. I can’t remember exactly what we said but I have a vague feeling that it went something like this:
ME: ‘It’s coming. It’s definitely coming. Are you ready? Can you see it?’
FRIEND: ‘I can’t see it yet. Sit a bit higher.’
ME: ‘It’s coming!’
FRIEND: ‘I can see something! Aw… it’s really gross.’
ME: ‘What does it look like?’
FRIEND: ‘Like poo.’
Unfortunately in all our curiosity, I’d forgotten that poo didn’t like an audience.
My friend suddenly blurted out, ‘It’s gone!’
ME: ‘Yeah, it went back in a bit.’
Best friends are great, but they really can disappoint sometimes. Instead of pitying me for having socially phobic poo, she started laughing while I worked really hard on pushing the poo out again. That’s when my mother heard us and walked in.
I still maintain that she overreacted. Although, I do acknowledge that discovering your daughter red-faced and mid-poo with an audience might turn even the most unflappable of parents into witch-like harpies. However, the way she reacted insinuated that she thought we were up to something slightly more sordid than simply satisfying our curiosity about poo.
My friend quickly exited, which is more than I can say about my poo.
Despite my mother angrily telling me to go to my room, I stayed put because, as I pointed out to her, I wasn’t quite done. The little bit of poo previously poking out of my bottom had fallen off with shock upon my mother walking into the bathroom. However there was more waiting to exit from within my now petrified arse hole.
My mum insisted on waiting in the doorway, her angry devil stare made sure that I ended up going to my room with poo still lodged firmly up my arse.