|
Bon temps a la bidet
By Maryanne Stahl
I am anal expulsive. Well, I am. I dont know why, what my mother
did or didn't do during my training, but I do remember drawing on walls a lot as a child. With paint, I think. And crayons
and stuff. I made token efforts to hide what I'd done, but mostly I wanted people to look upon it and heap praise.
I blurt things out. Its part of my charm, if you like me, part of what's so annoying about me, if you don't. I spout
off the top of my head, let out steam, gas, all manner of excreta. Then I feel soooo much better. I don't understand why the
people around me have screwed up their faces in disgust. On come on. It wasn't that bad! Was it? I didn't mean to offend;
it means nothing to me now.
I'll try anything. Fling it at the walls and see what sticks, you know? Then examine
the odd-pretty shape of the stain. Make the best of it; it's all good. If not, make more. There's no end to what erupts from
me. Sometimes yesterday's product, well, frankly, stinks. So what? The process itself is important. It felt good. It even
taught me something.
But that's private.
|
