Things you don't wanna know

My mom called me after she read this blog entry of mine and asked why my husband let me write such things about him. I told her that if he didn't do such things, then I wouldn't write about such things.

The following story is one that is completely self-indulgent and falls into both the "too much information" and the "why does your husband let you write such things" categories:

Last night before we fell asleep, Bill and I delved into a conversation about diarrhea (yeah, you can see that this is heading nowhere fast). I was complaining about the "butt pee" variety of diarrhea — you know the kind where it's like you're peeing out your butt. Yeah, butt pee.

Then Bill chimes in, "But butt vomit is worse."

"Butt vomit?" I incredulously ask.

He explained that "butt vomit" is the volatile form of truly liquid fecal material that explodes from ... uh, the human body at an incredibly high rate of speed — like your pooer was projectile vomiting. Bill accompanied this description with the sound, "phffffffffffffffffffffffffscht!" Sounding kind of like a faucet turned all the way to 11.

Because my sense of humor never develop beyond that of a 13-year-old boy, I began laughing hysterically at this and even asked him to make the noise again.

Today as I was using the facilities here at work, I began thinking about trying to recount that conversation here in this blog and was again struck by the humor in my husband describing "butt vomit"and could not for the life of me control the onslaught of laughter that ensued — which was really unfortunate in that I was still in the bathroom stall and really needed to get out and get back to work.

It took a couple of moments and many deep breaths (never a good thing in a pubic bathroom) to compose myself enough to be able to exit that stall and not appear as if I was some kind of freakish deviant who finds great joy and laughter in the process of relieving myself.

Fortunately, no one else was in the lavatory and could all my giggles to return as I exited the facilities without running into anyone else. Because explaining my joy of the restroom was one conversation that I didn't want to have.