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This is GT - of course we can and will talk about poop.

So, I have digestive issues that occasionally affect me at work. (And by occasionally, I mean an average of 3 days of the week. I didn’t really want to cop to the reality that it’s more often than not. Because ugh.) When these situations arise, I know I’m going to need a little more time in The Room of Resting than the usual pee-n-go that most of us try to accomplish at the office. And it’s SUPER STRESSFUL, you guise.

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I’m really fortunate in that my office has single-person bathrooms so I don’t have to directly share the experience with anyone else. But as realtors always say - location location location! I hate the one on the main drag of cubicles because every. damn. person. will know how long I’m in there and might become aware of the olfactory evidence. There’s a lovely little bathroom tucked in a lonely corner that I try to get to as often as possible, but sometimes another pooper is camped out there and I can’t, you know, wait. If I’m really desperate I can go through a small outdoor breezeway to our little satellite office, but then it’s painfully obvious what I’m doing.

Then I face the aroma dilemma. Which is worse - poop smell or fake-fruity-fresh-mountain breeze air freshener smell? Do I leave the door cracked open and the exhaust fan on? Or is that just causing too much air pollution? I’m afraid to do the whole “light a match” thing because it’s an office with smoke detectors everywhere. I struggle with these questions. Struggle, I tell you.

And then there’s the camouflage efforts I employ to take my phone in there without people realizing that’s what I’m up to. But damn y’all, if I’m going to be a few minutes, I might as well check Facebook or play a game. It’s not like I’m skipping out on tons of work time. It’s kind of like the folks who go out several times a day for a smoky lung snack, right? At least that’s what I tell myself.

It’s all just so annoying and frustrating on top of the genuine physical discomfort I have to put up with. Whine whine complain kvetch bitch moan.

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Completely off-topic (well, it’s mildly gross): I got my very first blackhead this week. I KNOW. 51 years old and never had one before. It’s like the universe threw me one tiny bone. Anyhoo, I went out and bought one of those little blackhead-remover-thingies and damn was it fun. Not as fun as those hypnotically disgusting videos you can find all over the interwebz, but fun nonetheless. Although honestly, does ANYONE’S nose look good up close? I think not.

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