Women, I am willing to bet that if you live or have lived with a man, you go into the bathroom when he is performing a rectal care package drop.
For men, pooping is more than just pinching a loaf, dropping the Cosby kids off at the pool, squirting some Hershey's, or merely performing a necessary bodily function. Pooping is a rite of manhood.
When a man commits to a mate, he gives up all control of everything in his life, with the possible exception of his own personal bodily functions. We can't watch TV alone - you have to cuddle or we have to watch your shows. We can't get on the computer by ourselves - you want to check your e-mail. We can't take a nap - you have to piss us off by waking us up. What's left?
To take a shit.
Pooping is the most private activity a person can do. Do you really want to see the looks on our faces as we grunt and strain to dislodge a log jam? Is that the man that caught your eye from across the room? Our poop experience is a lot like yours - ugly, embarassing, and quite smelly. You really want to take part in that?
And yet every time, whether you think you need to touch up your makeup, you need a Kleenex, you want to check out the zit on your chin, or you "just remembered" to tell us something, if we are in there, you are in there.
And then you proceed to say, "Good lord, what did you eat? You're peeling the paper off the walls! You're gagging me!"
What the hell did you expect? My wife says "My poop smells like roses". Bull shit! I've smelled your shit, and if that is the aroma of roses, then my ass looks like Walther Matthau. You know damn well what I'm doing in there, so why do you still come in? I've been married ten years, and she hasn't changed. But I bet if I walked in while she had her leg hiked up sticking a cotton ball up her ass (as she calls it) I'd be tossed out.
So stay the fuck out!
I am footfknmaster, and all I want is to make an offering to the porcelain god in peace.