My biggest fear in life is being constipated. Considering that constipation is my only fear is a testament to the banality of my existence. I’ve come to terms with it, only because I know how rarely this condition occurs to me and how terrible it can be. As for being banal, well, I have nothing more to say about that.
On the off days my body is constipated, I triple my caffeine intake and binge eat fruits and vegetables. I drink SmartWater and Gatorade in the vain attempts to make something rumble. I cry and lay on my couch in despair, recounting all the terrible things I ate from the day before and vowing to never do that to myself again. On a more positive note, I try to make healthy lifestyle changes by telling myself lies: “Drink more water. Eat a banana every day. Stop drinking. Buy kale. Call the doctor.”
I momentarily panic, convincing myself that death by constipation is a real thing. Actually, it is. It just has a different name for it – bowel obstruction. That would be the worst case scenario. Obviously, there are many factors resulting in constipation such as hyperthyroidism, depression, and diabetes. Should you have any of these conditions, you should absolutely consult WebMD first. For constipation, the explanation is much simpler (for women, at least). The science behind this condition suggests that constipation can occur due to the fluctuation of hormones in a woman’s body. Apparently when a woman’s reproductive process disintegrates yet another unused ova in the form of a monthly period, the shitter can stop working at any time before, during, or after that process. I suppose I should be grateful to be childless, but not when I am about to shit one out of my ass instead.
The religious quacks would argue that Eve was so full of original sin that God made sure that ever girl of pubescent age and woman would suffer the wrath of His Holiness in the guise of irregularity. It wasn’t just Eve, though. The Bible says Adam, though charming and handsome and all that jazz, sought instant gratification through Eve’s body which ultimately earned him the lowly status of “fucker.” As a result, there are plenty of men and boys that are constipated, too.
Some of us don’t talk about regularity to one another because society tells us it’s “gross” and “improper.” Oh, and we are filled with plenty of shame: “How can I tell my wife that it’s been nearly a full week since my last dump? Will she still love me?” to “Sorry dude. Not sure if I can go to the party because I have waited for this moment forever, and I don’t know if I can walk after,” says no one ever. We all think that, but to actually vocalize it? What will our mothers think? I mean, there is a YOGURT that is specifically targeted to help women with their regularity. Clearly, we don’t eat enough fiber in our diet or drink enough water as a society.
Almost everyone I know in my family and friend circles have some sort of regularity issue. I still remember the day when my then three-year-old cousin stood buck naked at the top of the stairs in the middle of a family dinner, proud of the fact that his massive once-in-four-days dump clogged the toilet once again. His dad (my uncle) left the dinner table armed with elbow length rubber gloves, a snake, and the most hardcore plunger I have ever seen in my life. He took the task of obliterating that turd very seriously. I also learned that women of East Asian decent only go once every two or three days (WTF, I thought seaweed was fiber too). I have another good friend who recently purchased “Tush Wipes” from Amazon for those just-in-case-I-have-to-go-at-work days. We all know someone who binge eats laxative pills like it’s their job.