“I Pooped Today”

Before you go any further, I have to warn you: this might get a little gross. So, please, leave. Go read something more useful. I’ll wait.

Oh, you’re still here? Okay, I guess I have no choice but to proceed with today’s thought.

I think one of the ways I measure the quality of a friendship is by how comfortable we are being disgusting around each other.

Earlier today, I was in a meeting at work. And yes, for those of you who don’t know, I work a nine-to-five. To six, even. How I hate capitalism. Anyways, in the middle of the meeting, my phone rang and I muted it, because I had to focus. But then my friend called again, followed by an iMessage:

“PICK UP YOU PRICK.”

Okay, this is an emergency, I told myself. I stood up and walked outside the meeting room.

“Yo! Wassup?” I said.

“You will not believe it,” she said, already excited. “You will not believe me at all.”

“What happened? What happened? Did Michael Jackson resurrect?”

For those who aren’t aware, that was sarcasm.

“Ha-ha! Funny!” she said, also sarcastically. “But no.”

“Mbwira!” I pleaded.

“Well…” She said. “I JUST POOPED.”

I genuinely don’t have a word for the level of excitement in her voice.

“It was a long, thick, brown one,” she continued, “and it was a little bit shiny.”

I know, I know. You’re making a disgusted face. But as gross as this sounds, we had been waiting for this bomb for a while, and I couldn’t believe it had finally happened. Okay, not we. She. She had been struggling with constipation, so this was breaking news that deserved to be celebrated.

There was no why are you telling me this? Or an attempt to maintain whatever social decorum we’re all pretending to have. We were just two friends genuinely happy that the other had finally managed to shit.

And honestly, I think that’s beautiful.

To me, friendship is not always the deep conversations or knowing someone’s childhood trauma or being there when everything falls apart. Sometimes, it’s someone texting you, “I finally pooped,” or “I finally farted after holding it in for 30 seconds in the elevator,” and you respond with enthusiasm like.

“YESSS! FINALLYYYY!”

It’s the same feeling I get when a girl isn’t shy about saying she’s having cramps. I mean, I don’t need to know the details, but there is something comforting about someone not feeling like they have to make their body seem perfectly convenient around you when they are truly suffering. And who knows, maybe I’ll even buy you a Coca and some ice cream. Blink twice if you believe me.

Or when someone says, “People, bear with me. I had food poisoning, that’s why I keep going out so much.” And everyone laughs because, well, what else are we supposed to do?

I like people who can be human around me without the need to be something polished and presentable. People who can tell you they’re tired, bloated, cramping, constipated, sweaty, hungry, or one bad meal away from regretting every decision they’ve ever made.

Anyway, I hope to see you all on the 29th of August at Substack and Friends Kigali. Bring some books so we can swap. And if you don’t have one and I’m feeling generous enough, I might even lend you one of mine. Blink twice if you believe me.

Oh wait… before I go, am I the only one who grew up believing that girls pooped flowers? Until… ehhh, let me not.