Hospitali-D

9:03am
B-Trip: Home

Sometimes the Morning D is all you got....the only bit of tranquility you can count on during what is sure to be a hectic day.

My sister and brother-in-law arrived last night from Chicago and will be staying with us over the long weekend. It has been a few years since they last visited so it's nice to have them back.

As I nestled into my Morning D, jalapenos racing to the finish line, I tried to plan our sight-seeing in my mind: Farmer's Market/Grove for breakfast, they'd like to see a movie at the Arclight, we know we're going to Social Hollywood for dinner....

Suddenly, there was a rapping on the front door.

Dicked.

The light tapping soon gave way to the ringing of the doorbell.

Double dicked.

I knew immediately what had happened. My bro-in-law is an avid runner, the kind of guy who finishes just behind the Kenyans in marathons. Accustomed this time of year to running in single-digit wind chills, he couldn't wait to hit the sunny sidewalks of Los Angeles. He embarked on a morning jog before I awoke, and I locked him out when I grabbed the newspaper off the front porch.

I know for certain Elle has not arisen yet. And as far as I can tell, neither has my sis. Or if she has, she might be locked out too.

There's no choice. I must abort my noble mission.

This, of course, is the worst way to ever finish a D. It flies in the face of everything Taking D represents: serenity, reflection, escape. In fact, I posit the primary reason to Take D is because life seems to consist of a constant stream of interruptions, one right after another. Well, that and the fact that crapping in your pants can be uncomfortable.

As far as I can tell, there are two ways you can handle a situation like the one I'm in:

A) Throwing caution and common decency to the wind, you stand up and walk your brownie batter behind to the door as delicately as possible. With an air of nonchalance, you tend to the pressing matter, careful not to let anyone catch of whiff of your stinky booty. Then you retreat to the B-Trip at the nearest opportunity and finish the job. Under no circumstances would you ever take a seat somewhere else before doing so. In fact, it would probably be best for all concerned if you took an immediate shower and never spoke of this again.

or...

B) You wipe as fast as humanly possible, doing perhaps not the most thorough job but one that will pass muster for the time being.

I chose Option B. (It goes without saying that if there was an Option D, I would have selected that.)

As I frantically finished up and raced to the door, my sister also emerged from the guest room to let her husband back inside.

So dicked! Turns out I didn't have to abort, after all.

But karma works in curious ways.

In my haste to finish things up, I haphazardly used way too much toilet paper. This created a stall in the plumbing. The toilet managed to flush for me, but just barely.

About ten minutes later, my brother-in-law excused himself to take a shower. While my sister and I conversed, he sheepishly reappeared...asking if we had a plunger. I knew deep down the clog was a team effort, but he was the one with egg on his face.

The moral of the story? Beware all ye who interfere with my Morning D.


6:45pm
B-Trip: Home

I have a confession to make:

I Drink & D.

Why do I sometimes bring beverages in with me? A glass of water, cup of coffee....frankly, I don't think much about it.

But it baffles Elle.

I can understand that. To an outside observer, the mere thought of it must be repulsive beyond words. In much the same way a newspaper or magazine that has spent time in the B-Trip is no longer fit for regular household use, surely any beverage is immediately tainted the instant my bowels jettison their goods like straight-up exocytotic vesicles on a Golgi apparatus. (You hear me screaming, microbiologists? Holler back!)

However, I disagree with that assessment. In fact, a sip of water may be just what the body needs to keep the process moving.

That said, I've noticed I rarely take a drink. In this case, the glass is sitting just out of reach on the counter. Maybe it's there simply as a security blanket. You know, just in case I need it. Or maybe the placid H2O helps create the proper, calming atmosphere for Taking D. Or perhaps I need longer arms so I can reach that f*cking thing.

Or maybe the best way to look at this quandary is that it's a question not meant to be answered. For example, each morning Elle's half-full water glass migrates from the bedroom to the bathroom counter...but never any further.

If I don't want to feel like I married that 'lil bitch from SIGNS (editor's note: Win that Oscar, Abigail!) it's up to me to make sure the glass finds its way back to the kitchen. I could try to ascertain why this happens (imminent alien attack?), but it's better just to acknowledge this quirk for what it is: Part of the enduring mystery that is woman.

Drinking & D'ing strikes me as the same thing.