In high school, if I ever had to use the washroom (which if you asked my teachers it would seem that I have a very overactive bladder since I requested a bathroom break nearly two times every class. Really, just to get the hell outta there, but what they don’t know won’t kill ‘em) I would close the propped open door to the washroom, turn on the hand dryer and pee like the dickens so no one would hear me should they walk in midstream.

Gawd forbid one (you know, The One) squeaked out when you sat down. Those unwelcome little farts that spook you while peeing. C’mon, you know. The hum from that dilapidated hand dryer would drown those buggers out; and by the end of grade 12 I was really good at getting all my business done before the buzzing hand dryer quit.

I’ve never been shy about bodily functions (except in the presence of unrelenting teenage girls that were not my friends. Why give them more ammunition?). And if you know me outside this blog, you know that For Sure! I burp all the time at work and though I pick and choose how it’s in front of, I will pretty much do it anywhere. My boss jokingly (I think *shrug*) tells me I’m not allowed in his office if I have to burp. (So I stand immediately outside the door, belch and blow it in his office. Ya, we’re down like that.)

My family and I are very familiar with each other’s bodily functions as we’ve never been shy to fart or burp in front of each other. Sometimes even competing. At the dinner table. Feel the love people. Feel the love.

[My mom could give you a run for your money, that's for sure. Like Mother Like Daughter. She's so proud, I know it.]

Mike’s first encounter with my family was a little stifling at first. My mom and step-dad were very good at giving my boyfriends the cold shoulder. I don’t blame them at all when I look back at the type of boys I brought home. (To meet them. Pervs.) Mike was just another guy with earrings, bad attitude and smoked like a chimney. I’m sure they even compared him to a couple of the other doozies I had dated back then. I can just picture them sitting in the basement; side-by-side and my mom’s all like, “Did you see his earrings? He has Five. Five. And he smokes soooo much!” Then my step-dad would turn to her and be all like, “Dear, would you rather her be dating Fucktard Douchebag still? I’ll take this guy, for the time being.”

Poor Mike.

Then dinner.

My mom calls us all for the meal. We sit. Mike sits beside my step-dad and across from me. We’re having a civil yet awkward dinner conversation when my step-dad cracks one off. In his typical style, he kinda jumps up and then says, “Damn barking spiders.”

[Betcha never thought you'd be reading about my family's methods for expelling gas so descriptively now did you? See, this blog has everything!]

And it’s been like that ever since. Farts, burps.. we do it all.

But what brought this on you’re wondering.

Well, I’ve upped the anti a bit.

I poop at work.

[I can't write that without laughing.]

Yup. I do.

And proud of it too.

I never used to, and I used to get so bunged up because I’d hold it all the time.

[Little insight into my messed up mind.]Plus, it’s really my only place for peace and quite.

No one here asks me what I’m doing, or how come I’m taking so long, or if I’m alright.

I don’t have a toddler walking in, taking my hand and trying to get me off the toilet. He’s not here to come in, close the door and cry because he can’t open it to get out.

I don’t have a dog that chases the cat under the toilet, who is then trapped by a dog on one side and a curious toddler on the other.

Now, I am a free pooper. At work.

And ever been happier.

I’ve never felt so un-bunged.