Public Pooping Part Four: A Graceful Exit
Many of you have indulged me… and have actually read this three part (so far) series on Public Pooping. I don’t know what that says about, well, all of us!
I hope you understand that for me, this is an exercise in writing. A few days to get back in a groove. So thank you, for the indulgence. Albeit a bit silly.
With that said, I’d like to wrap up this literary piece, for now. A graceful exit, if you will.
You see, while this blog series was meant to be whimsical (even entertaining), there’s certainly a bit of truth to it. I would absolutely consider myself a public pooper. I’m certainly not afraid. And I continue to judge those surroundings, when the ‘urge’ presents itself. Further, I did find sincere pleasure in the public restrooms of Iceland.
And something that a friend said to me the other day, regarding this very topic, suddenly connected a whimsical writing exercise with a genuinely fond memory… and feeling.
So in case you didn’t think we could turn a public pooping expose into a sentimental, and even warm discussion, I’d like to tell you about a place from my youth. A place that makes me smile.
Grandma’s bathroom.
Grandma’s bathroom was unlike any restroom I’ve experienced as an adult. Public or Private.
It had features & benefits that today, seem unimaginable.
Here are the quick highlights:
CARPETING
Grandma’s bathroom was carpeted. (You can read that again.)
Not only was Grandma’s bathroom carpeted, but it was PLUSH.
Can you imagine, today, a carpeted bathroom? As adults, our first thoughts are probably about what get trapped in that carpet, no?
But when I was a kid, that plush carpet was delightful. A little weird between the toes when I stepped out of the shower, but back then… it was awesome.
CROCHET
Grandma’s bathroom was full of crochet. Warm and fuzzy. Most importantly, the toilet was covered in it.
Tank cover, check. Seat cover, check. Crochet rug at the bottom of the bowl, check.
So yes, the carpeting in the bathroom hugged the base of the toilet, and there was an extra rug of crochet as an apron. All below your feet during throne time.
THE FOAM SEAT
Grandma’s bathroom had a foam toilet seat. I mean, do they even make those anymore?
Grandma’s foam toilet seat provided a cushioned experience that is unmatched in today’s world.
Now… there were a couple downsides. Namely due to the heat buildup when sitting bare ass on a plastic covered pillow of sorts. Which made for a very distinctive sound when you stood up, provided you had sat for a while. TMI?
But even the sound of cheeky separation was not enough to take away from the glory of that highly cushioned seat. Especially when my bare feet were gently resting on a cloud of crochet and high pile carpet.
Grandma’s bathroom was comfortable. It was soft and warm, and it always smelled like a combination of her perfume, and grandpa’s liniment.
I miss that bathroom.
And I miss my Grandma.
So maybe that’s why I’m a public pooper. And maybe that’s why I’m so scrutinous of those spaces.
Maybe deep down, I’m searching for that experience that’ll take me back to my childhood. To Grandma’s.
If she were here today, I’d like to think she’d be proud of my attempts to express myself through prose. But who am I kidding… she’s slap the shit out of me for talking about poop in public.
And yes… that entire sentence was a pun, intended.
And in case you missed the prequels:
