It seems my rear end gets a severe case of homesickness whenever I head out for a trip. The moment I lock my front door and hop into a car, taxi, or plane, my backside decides, “Nope! I miss my own toilet. This door won’t budge until I’m back on my throne, thank you very much.”
I suffer from a unique affliction: Fecal Stage Fright.
When I travel, my ability to poop disappears entirely. Maybe it’s tied to nerves? Unlike some people who experience the opposite effect when anxious, I am unable to “drop the kids off at the pool,” so to speak. I genuinely try; I perch, take deep breaths, and even crank up the shower to let the steam work its magic. I play soothing music, hoping that some Enya will convince my bowels to cooperate. I’ve even dragged my suitcase into the bathroom to create a makeshift squatty potty. I’ve given my rear a motivational speech. But nothing seems to persuade my system to let go. Away from home, my sphincter feels like Fort Knox.
On the bright side, this predicament does come with a few perks. I avoid the awkward moments in public restrooms, waiting for the coast to be clear for a private session. I sidestep the frantic “Excuse me!” moments when I feel an urgent situation brewing. Plus, I don’t have to worry about stinking up a hotel room, which, let’s face it, keeps my travel companions happy. I can wear my favorite thongs without the fear of any unfortunate skid marks. So, there are definitely some silver linings to my clogged situation.
However, the downside is quite uncomfortable. I can’t eat as much because the thought of adding more to my already congested system makes me queasy. Isn’t indulging in delicious food while traveling one of the best parts? The bloating is another issue; my intestines feel like a jammed grain silo, making my clothes fit poorly and putting me in a foul mood. And let’s not even talk about the gas. Despite my best efforts to keep everything tightly packed, I eventually have to let something out, and it can clear a room. It’s the ultimate mortification.
It’s nearly impossible to enjoy my travels when I have the urge to go but can’t. Externally, I might look like a carefree traveler, excited about the adventures ahead. Internally, though, I’m just a blocked-up individual wishing for some stool softener to bring me relief.
Eventually, every trip culminates in the same scenario: I unlock my front door, and my butt shouts “freedom!” off I go to the porcelain throne armed with a gas mask and a good book, because I know I’ll be there for a while.
If you see me out and about, I may seem a bit restless or uncomfortable, but trust me, it’s not you; it’s just a poop situation.
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In summary, the struggle of traveling while dealing with constipation is both humorous and relatable. While the situation has its humorous aspects, it ultimately leads to discomfort and frustration.