Shitshy: One Woman's Tragic Struggle

Although anyone who knows me is aware that pooping is one of my favorite topics of conversation, and anyone who has spent time with my husband and I has been either inundated with, or possibly even chosen to take into their own lives overuse of the word "shoo shoo," some might not be aware that I am afflicted with a common affliction I like to refer to as "shitshy." Just this morning, I had an attack of shitshyness, when, upon approaching the bathroom, I was disheartened to find another woman entering at the exact same time. The situation was further impacted by the fact that there were only two stalls that had toilet paper in them and they were right next to one another. I can't make this stuff up people. I locked myself in the stall, unable to do my business because not only had she seen my face, we were in neighboring stalls. I mimicked doing my business, noisily putting down a paper seat cover, sitting down briefly, and then even unrolling toilet paper and even wiping, although there was nothing there to wipe. She was going about her merry way next to me, using the ol' flush-to-diguise-the-sound-of-plopping routine. I had to go back to my desk, wait 10 minutes to ensure the coast was clear, and then return to scratch the shoo shoo itch the large McDonald's coffee had delivered upon me this morning.

I know that pooping is normal, and for God's sakes, every man, woman, and child on earth does it every day, but I cannot help but feel enormous shame when someone knows I am doing it. I want to be at home, alone, with the door closed, reading Southern Living quietly when my time to shit comes.

Onto other, not-poop-related topics: so long Estelle Getty.


I remember that in high school, my tight group of girlfriends and I would watch umpteen episodes of The Golden Girls and always argue over who we were. No one was ever happy to be assigned to the role of Blanche, the slut, or Rose, the airhead, but among our friends, the stereotypes were evident and too hard to deny. When it came down to it, I always wanted to be Sophia, but was forced to be Dorothy because of both my height, and, I suppose, my awkward unattractiveness at the time.

Ok, I have to process cases and listen to the news now. For some reason, every time I try to listen to Democracy Now, I cannot concentrate. Too stupid, apparently. Maybe I'm just an optimist and the truth about the imminent destruction of everything good in the world make me unattentive.