Girls don’t poop. I’m thoroughly convinced of this. I’m also thoroughly convinced that if they do, it’s roses. Bright red and white roses.I don’t think there’s a guy reading this right now that even wants to think about what it means if that statement is a false one.
This very fact makes it very, very awkward to go to the bathroom at an all-girls school if you’re a dude.
I only make such a statement because I’ve done such a thing. It’s a chore, sometimes an embarrassment, always a slight thrill and never disappointing.
And just once, it was a complete mindf***.
My girlfriend goes to Smith College, in Mass. and I’ve been visiting her for close to three years now. I usually go down for the weekend, which is way too long to hold it. I usually manage through Saturday night but come Sunday, it’s uncontrollable. It’s not even an option to hold it anymore. It’s usually early AM when we wake that I make the quiet trek down the third floor hallway, past dozens of closed doors blocking off the girls, sweetly sleeping, unaware of the visceral bombardment about to violate their senses.
My shoes always hit much harder than I want them to, the old wooden floors of the dormitory sucking the sound from my shoes and shooting it back out like horse hooves. Being quiet never works.
Slinking slowly toward the door, I’m always afraid someone will “catch” me, someone who knows what I’m about to do. All I need is some girl to walk into the bathroom behind me to pee. She knows the smell and everyone on the floor knows what I look like.
They can’t know that I do this here. They certainly don’t do it here.
This time, I made it to the bathroom without incident. The door makes a strange kind of swooshclang every time I enter and search around, making a quick check underneath the stalls before.
Someone came in behind me! I leaped into the nearest stall, slamming the door behind me and sat on the toilet, pants still up. I held my breath as I waited, not wanting to do my business until the person left. I had to wait.
Of course, the door in the stall next to mine closed. I was hoping it was just a tooth brushing but I’d have to wait longer now. But not much. Just a pee.
There are certain times in your life that your entire worldview explodes inside your head. Everything you ever thought comes crashing down and you have to rethink things. It’s usually only one instance, one strange going-on that does it. All it takes is for one of your rock-solid beliefs to crack for you to wonder “If I’m wrong about THIS, what else am I wrong about?”
Since that day I’ve been upset that there wasn’t a mirror on the back of that stall door. When the smell hit I’m convinced that my face exploded.
I wanted to move or scream or something but I couldn’t. I just stared at the door, attempting to hold my breath for what felt like three solid days. It was so bad I could taste it.
Finally, the flush. I snapped back to my senses and opened my eyes. There, by the sink, were feet. Pale, slender feet, with clean-cut, well-trimmed toenails. Bright pink, nail polished toenails.
After she’d left I got up slowly, opened the door, and stumbled my way back to my girlfriend’s room, unblinking and paler than usual. I opened the door, waking her. I got back in to bed and she asked what was wrong. I stared straight ahead and shivered. It was the only answer she needed.
She held me until I was calm, and I held it until I got home. My ass hasn’t felt the cold porcelain grip of a Smith toilet seat since.