I can’t believe my first post is going to be about poop. To all you armchair Freudian psychoanalysts, feel free to go to town.
I’m not sure if it’s because I’m “old” or if I just operate on a level of social decorum that others do not, but I am just so disturbed by what seems to be a late 20XX obsession with pooping and finding ways to manage it. Hey, as a business woman, I get it – everybody poops, right? There’s even a children’s book about it. Marketing is a slam dunk.
Demographic? Everyone.
Target Sales Audience out of 100? 100.
Captive audience: All of HUMANITY .
We all do it. WE ALL DO IT. But do we have to be so damn graphic about it? Dookey happens, I get it. But damn, people! Do we need a play by play?
I’m sure you’ve seen these Squatty Potty commercials with a graphical representation of the deed in action using a unicorn and rainbow swirl that looks too much like a carnival dessert indulgence as a metaphor? Eew. Just…eew. If you haven’t, you need to take three minutes out of your day to do so. I’ll admit, I laughed when I first saw it. When I first saw it. But, my God, I don’t think we can go any lower, people.
Oh, but we can. WE CAN! In preparation for this post, I googled “shiny hiney” (note from the editor: do NOT do this with small children in the room), and THIS popped up. Wow. I didn’t realize we were all this worried about the pooper.
And, to top it off, recently, I was driving down the road, humming along to this really catchy tune, enjoying my day when… I suddenly realized I was singing, OUT LOUD no less, “My hiney is so Charmin shiney!” Good thing I wasn’t on the commuter train is all I have to say about that.
But here’s what I don’t get. Is it that the generation that grew up with the Everyone Poops book are the ones that are currently in marketing and making these commercials? Is that why they seem to be everywhere? I mean, I come from a generation where, when someone goes in the bathroom, we collectively go into denial about what is going on in there. The Pooper enters the bathroom, they turn on the fan, run the water, and, as delicately as 
possible, does the deed. The nightmare scenario, surely alive in every person’s Super-Ego, is that you will bundy the toilet at a social event. You will meekly look for a plunger and, in finding none, find a way to just die. Like, right there.
Just die.
So how did we jump from “die” to my singing, “My hiney is so Charmin shiney,” right out loud in prime-time at a red light?
WTF? TMI people.
T. M. I.
~stephanie
P.S. When I shared the idea of this post with Karen, I was relieved (no pun intended) to be reminded of her obsession with toilet paper and that she has written about such on more than one occasion in the past. She was kind enough to republish her thoughts so that I wouldn’t be the only one writing about what goes on in the bathroom.
Merci beau-poop!