A Natter on the Crapper

I read an article in a newspaper yesterday, that told me that Gwyneth Paltrow’s guru (I want a guru – where can you get one?) believes that couples should wash together and the journalist went on to question whether unlocking the bathroom door to your partner, unlocks the door to their heart.

This reminded me of a conversation that I had with a friend some years ago, that has always stuck in my mind. She told me that her and her husband leave the en suite door open when they go to the loo and she was worrying about the fact that they had become too familiar. 

Then of course I get the image in my brain, because let’s face it…you do. (If I wrote on here right now: imagine Donald Trump in the shower, despite every fibre of your being screaming at you: nooooo! you’d get an image…err yes, sorry about that). 

So, I immediately got a picture of her husband sitting on the khazi having a crap, while she’s leaning against the door frame discussing their plans for the weekend. 

It just doesn’t seem right.

I mean, I know that I’ve had my legs in stirrups, fanny wide open and twenty student doctors peering in, but that was because the hospital hadn’t seen a natural breech birth in years. There is simply no scientific reason to shit in front of your spouse. If it actually gets your pheromones going, that’s a whole different ball game, but if you’re just using it as an exercise in time management, then talk through the diary like most other couples. Time can surely never be so precious that you need to converse over a dump. 

Perhaps there is an ulterior motive here. Get him on the crapper mid-shit and then tell him you’ve just closed another e bay deal. It’s hard to conduct an effective defence with your trousers around your ankles. 

I’m not even sure about the whole en suite situation. We used to have one, we don’t any more – I’ve lived both lives and I can honestly say that the life without the sound of piss and wind in the bedroom is currently my favourite. God, it’s bad enough hearing sounds emanating from the family bathroom and there’s a whole corridor between us.  

No, the only place I am willing to share conversation with partner in the bathroom is in the bath – as long as I don’t get the tap end and on the proviso that he doesn’t fart. 

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