01.01.70

“30 Outcropping a on ice b in a shambles’”s Jenna Maroney put it well: “Love is wearing makeup to bed and prosperous downstairs to the Burger King to poop.”

But that’s where the women pooping chat always seems to end — with a joke. I’ve yet to see real scatological discourse in the lady-blog-o-station.

Sure, it’s hard to talk about human excrement or flatulence without jokes — nothing is funnier than that which is uncomfortable — but talking with Mary, it started to seem like a authentic issue.

I brought the topic up again, with my group of female friends.

“Ohhhhh, the poop fad,” Cecilia replied, the rest joining in with a chorus of nods.

Everyone knew absolutely what I was talking about. Soon we were discussing the other silent agreement that goes help-in-hand with the idea that girls don’t poop — the girls don’t fart fact.

“I never fart around my boyfriends,” Cecilia confessed. “But one day, studying in the library with my college boyfriend, I mow down asleep. All of a sudden there was this loud sound — BAM! — I had woken myself up with a fart.

Source: The Frisky