So many women seem to love the fact that they can fart and poop in front of their partners. Sorry, but it’s not a sign of true love when you start crapping with the door open or tooting while you’re Netflix and chilling. I will never do this. No matter how vulgar my sense of humor, some lines shouldn’t be crossed.
- Girls don’t poop. My husband has a brain and knows that I poop, but look at it this way: I’m almost 30 and I know Santa Claus doesn’t exist. Still, my mom puts a present under the tree every year from “Santa” and it still makes me feel good. In other words, there’s no harm in perpetuating an innocent fantasy even when you know it’s not true.
- Being modest doesn’t mean you’re not a feminist. There seems to be this notion associated with feminism that being “ladylike” is outdated. I personally think there’s a certain charm to being a modest lady, to an extent. You can be yourself and be feminist AF without “letting it all hang out.”
- Being private about your bodily functions is natural. It is how we’ve evolved socially. The roots are hygienic; primitive humans would leave their living space to defecate in order to keep their homes and villages clean and free of vermin. This meant leaving your home to poop alone. Now we can just flush our number twos and forget it ever happened, but I really believe there’s a historically social aspect to pooping in isolation.
- I don’t want to see him poop either. Let’s be real, unless you have a poop fetish (in which case, you do you!), why keep the door open? That crap stinks, literally. There’s really nothing sexy about sitting on the pot with your pants at your ankles, making your poop face. I don’t want to watch him, so why would he want to watch me?
- There are plenty of other ways to be vulnerable in front of your significant other. Unless, as previously mentioned, your vulnerability is a poop fetish. In that case, be honest—everyone has their thing. In all other cases, being open and vulnerable can manifest in your relationship in so many other ways. You really don’t need to see each other drop a deuce.
- Sometimes your poops are not what you anticipated. Don’t get me wrong, if things are looking wonky and unhealthy, tell your S.O. and go to the doctor if it’s serious. Even if you don’t have digestive issues, depending on what you have been eating, you’re not always guaranteed a nice, clean poo. Nobody wants to witness your unexpected runs. Once you’re situated and decide this particular episode isn’t meant for public viewing, you can’t really get up to close the door.
- I’m not his effing dog. Humans watch their pets poop so they can dispose of it. My husband does not have any responsibility in getting rid of my excrement. I can flush myself—he doesn’t need to supervise.
- I’d like to preserve a little magic. Remember when you first started dating? When you would clean your apartment before he came over, then apologize for “the mess”? When you would spend an hour looking for the perfect outfit that makes your butt look fantastic but also makes you look like you “just threw it on”? When you left your hair wet but also put on some natural looking makeup so he would think you looked like that straight out of the shower? When you purposely “ate light” so when you had sex after your date, you wouldn’t look bloated? Newsflash: he’ll eventually figure out you’re actually a slob, prefer sweatpants, have blotchy skin without makeup, and look like you’re six months pregnant after you eat. The least you can do is close the door while you relieve your bowels.
- I just like to poop alone. It’s physically cathartic. I’m an introvert. Silence, please.
- It’s just the way I am. I went shopping at the Goodwill one time. As I was checking out, the young man at the register quietly rung up my items. After a couple minutes without dialogue, he said to me, “I’m sorry I’m not saying much, it’s just the way I am.” It was the most honest, heartwarming interaction I have ever had with a stranger, and I’ve lived by those words ever since. I’m sorry I don’t like to poop in front of my husband, it’s just the way I am.
