Have you heard the buzz about women writers and bloggers becoming more open about their bodily functions -- as in waaaay open, like a lidless garbage can during a trash collectors' strike?
Maybe I am just too dainty for this brave new world. These are subjects I would find hard to bring up with my doctor, much less my friends. And I (shhh) still won't shave or spit out mouthwash in front of my husband.
Here is one of the most notorious examples. This story is indelicate like Spike and Mike's Sick and Twisted Animation Show is sick and twisted. (When Spike and Mike say Sick and Twisted, it's not in the ironic sense, people.)
And yet...can we tell it another way?
"Every three weeks or so comes a time in a woman's life which calls for the application of a cotton apparatus that has the shape of a little white mouse. This Moe, after the ingestion of certain memory and judgment-altering substances plus intimate unfiltered congress with several males, left the mouse-shaped apparatus in its place a little longer than was necessary, causing an unfortunate effluvium."
Hey -- I just told a gross story without being gross! I may be on to something here. Let's do it again.
Ever go into a toilet stall and notice that the previous occupant has neglected to use the flush lever? (I am sorry to say that this happened with alarming frequency when I was at college.)
What do you do in this situation? Do you reach out to flush the toilet? I do, and I've found that 99% of the time, there is no mechancial problem with the toilet.
Why won't people flush a perfectly working toilet? Why not follow the old but true campground rule: Leave no trace. Like this.
That means looking into the bowl after flushing to make sure nothing is left behind. Don't be afraid. You will forget any untoward sights sooner than you think.
That's a nice way of being open while keeping kind of shut at the same time, isn't it?