Friday, May 19, 2006

Don't Pooh Pooh My Poo

Years ago while I was learning to swim the instructor tried to encourage me with the following words of wisdom.

"There are sinkers and there are floaters. You are a sinker," she said.
"Do sinkers ever swim then?"
"Eventually."

I guess I'm eventually going to float but not today.

I'm going to use the same analogy for that which people frown upon - human excrement or shit. For those of a sensitive disposition, I'll refer to it as poo. Why do we hate talking about poos? Is it the smell that bothers us or are people just shit scared? Well, I have no problems discussing poos, which I've been meaning to write about. So here goes.

I have observed that, apart from when one has the runs, there are two types of poos: sinkers and floaters. Mine are little pellets of floaters. I'm amazed at the different shapes that come out. I've had heart shape poos that looked adorable. Maybe I could have my poos displayed in a modern art exhibition. After all, if Chris Ofili can win the Turner Prize with art that included dry elephant dung, then I should have no problems with my heart shape poos. Unless the artists decide to expel me from their academy. Hahaha. The puns keep rolling out thick and fast. Another pun. Haha.

I wonder if my poos float because they're filled with light? Are poos that sink of the dark side? Hahaha.

Yesterday, I met a kindred spirit, someone who wasn't afraid to talk about poos. He sat next to me on the bus but his mother insisted that he swap seats and sit beside her. OK, my new friend was about four years old, but he was still a kindred spirit. He started saying poo, poo, poo. His mother told him he was being disgusting. She tried to distract him by singing You are My Sunshine to him which goes:

You Are My Sunshine
My only sunshine.
You make me happy
When skies are grey.
You'll never know, dear,
How much I love you.
Please don't take my sunshine away
She wanted him to sing along with her. The boy was ever so willing but he substituted some of the words with "poo."

You are my poo poo
My only poo poo
You make me poo poo
By that time I was creasing up. I even encouraged him by singing along. It didn't matter what strategies his mother used to distract him like pointing out to him the school he will be attending in September, the boy wouldn't stop saying poo. He seemed to take such delight saying "poo poo" until his mother relented. I said to his mother "I wonder if his favourite book is going to be 'Winnie the Poo'", I mean Pooh. Hahaha.

While the boy may have won the battle of the poos, he hadn't won the war. Not by a long shot. When he goes to school they're going to condition the shit out of him. If he insists on talking shit, he will be defined as having a scatological sense of humour. I hope one day when he's had enough of this shit he'll search for "poo" on the Internet and find this post. I hope he'll remember the lady sitting behind him on the bus who sang to him:

You Are my poo poo
My only poo poo.
You make me poo poo
When skies are poo.
You'll never know, poo,
How much I love you.
Please don't take my poo poo away.
Please don't pooh pooh my poo. I'm doing what comes naturally. Hehehe.

Lots of love,
Enocia the Poo