Women have alimentary canals,too.
I know, you don’t want to hear that about Grace Nakimera because you have a crush on her and you don’t want to have a crush on people who have shit bursting out of their behinds every single day, but hey, I don’t make the rules.
Ideally, we should maintain a conspiracy of silence and just not talk about it. Just pretend that Grace, Flavia, Rihanna, Jeniffer Mu$i$i etc do not fart rank, black, evil Pajero-like diesel at least no less than four times a day, but some women break this conspiracy, as one did one day when she loudly said, with even us, her male admirers within earshot, that a certain type of food gave her loose stools.
“TMI!” I shouted.
But then she got angry. “What about!” she scolded. “Nga when you and your male friends talk about toilet you don’t tell them TMI! Ntsss. Squippedy.”
Just before I threw her out (I can’t share social circles with people who are that local. Squippedy? I swear. That is how she said it.) I informed her that when I talk to my male buddies, we discuss important issues, we do not compare notes on the consistency of our diahhorea.
However, there is an exception to this rule. I recently sat through a very TMI speech from a guy. Finish your sandwich quickly before I tell you.
He said he does not use the urinal in the gents because sometimes when he tries to shake his conundrum after, it doesn’t get dry enough and the remaining droplets stain his underwear and create a damp, ammoniac smell. What he does, he said, is urinate in the WC, where there is toilet paper, which he can then use to daub his conundrum dry.
I really didn’t need to have heard that.
Because now I can’t use the urinal. For the whole week I have been unable to use the urinal. I am too scared of dripping.
I told you to finish your sandwich first.