Yes, I said pooping. So, as the title suggests, this blog post will be about poop. And if you don't like talking about bodily functions, then just skip it. If you think bodily functions are hilariously funny and are not so uptight as to pretend you don't poop, then read on, my friend!
Is it just me or is there something in the air at Target that makes one need to use the facilities for that most dreaded chore? In the most dreaded place, a public restroom? Perhaps it's the smell of popcorn that triggers the response, or maybe it's walking past the teeny-weeny bikinis that makes one want to dispose of that "five pounds of fecal waste" the infomercial for colon cleansing talks about? I don't know but every time I go to Target, whatever time of day, I suddenly need to GO. And, like Stifler, of "American Pie" fame, I will go to great lengths to avoid doing the big P anywhere but home.
But I walk through the garish red automatic doors of Target, and while all is well for a few minutes, it never fails that I have to leave my half-full shopping cart somewhere near the restroom door, hoping no one decides to steal the one pair of yoga pants that fit me, or the assorted items from the dollar bin that I didn't need, and head into the stall for a little "quality time". And who wants to do that in public? NO ONE! People go to great lengths to avoid the embarrassing public poop. There's the "courtesy cough" to cover up any noise, the "courtesy flush" to minimize air time of the offending product, even the hasty retreat from the restroom (who's gonna know it was you?) to avoid the walk of shame.
Public pooping is just downright inconvenient. I envy the people who have their "necessaries" on a schedule so that there are no surprise Target attacks. My husband would argue that a daily dose of fiber therapy would help that. Yet, somehow, drinking a thick mixture of orange-flavored goo every morning is just not my idea of a wake-up call. So, I continue to gamble with the possibility that maybe Target won't have that, ahem, effect on me. It may be genetic, however, as I appear to have passed a recessive gene on to my children. Because on a recent shopping trip to Target, one of them (I will not say who to avoid mortification) had the same problem.
Ironically, this happens at Wal-Mart too. Maybe spending money just scares the crap out of me. (Disclaimer: this blog is "out there" even for me. Still, I laughed. And it's also 2:48 in the morning so I take no responsibility for my sleep-blogging).