The beauty of writing for Dadcentric over the years is that nothing is taboo.
We are men (not DEVO) and we talk about men shit, guy stuff, dad things and all things in between (or is that inbetween?).
We’ve talked about the penis and how it sometimes has a beard and sometimes dances.
We’ve talked about hair (or the lack there of; or the trimming of said hair).
We’ve talked about kids and how we talk to to them.
And we’ve talked about shit.
Okay, so maybe it is only me talking about shit, but I love to talk shit. I do.
Today’s shit-talking lesson revolves around, “Where are you man enough to shit?”
I’ll leave Warren (aka mrbigdubya) out of this because the dude has had to shit in places waaaaayyyy more unpleasant than say, Walmart or some interstate rest stop.
Myself? I don’t quite have the balls or constitution (hee hee) to do such things. Or at least I didn’t.
Until this past weekend.
I had consumed one or both of two things: Shitty, out-of-date beer and pork bbq that was probably past its prime. I shat for days and days and days. Actually, I don’t know if you can call pissing out your ass shitting, can you?
Anyway, I am disgressing.
I was on my way to meet a colleague for lunch in Raleigh last week (30 minute drive max one way from Chapel Hill or Durham, NC). I got held up in traffic (Let’s pave this road at rush hour!) and missed my connection. So I called another colleague of mine who I hadn’t seen in ages and told him I was on my way over. It was 10:15am and he had an 11am deadline to meet. I was probably 25 minutes away.
I needed to kill some time.
But then, time had its own agenda. And time decided to kill me.
My stomach let out that gurgle and growl. Y’all know what I’m talkin’ about.
I needed to shit and I needed to shit immediately.
I found a McDonalds. Phew.
But this was one on the outskirts of downtown. It wasn’t a pretty place. But I had no choice? I would have rather shit in the woods (Does it make a sound if noone is there to hear it? Why yes it does…) but duty called (see above reference to Warren).
Am I a better man for having shit for whence in a place I would never?
Dunno. But (hee hee I said “butt”) at least I didn’t pass this gene on to my youngest son – that kid will shit anywhere.