Manifesto Merde

I’ve thought long and hard about what I want to talk to you about. You may not like it. Well. I don’t think many people do like it. 

Poo. 

Yes. I want to talk to you about poo. 

‘What?’ you may be thinking, ‘that’s hardly a female issue’. 

Wrong. 

It’s an everyone issue. Only not everyone talks about it. Especially not women, we all think. So I’m here to shed a little light on the matter. Manifesto merde: a woman’s perspective.

Poo happens. In all shapes and sizes. Believe it or not, it’s not just men that do poos. It’s not just men that block toilets either. Women do poos too. We poo. We takes shits. It’s just as brown as men’s poo. It smells just as bad.

Women take pride in their poo. Often quietly; discretely. But when they’ve had a really good one, they feel lighter and prouder. 

(This is not to be confused with the satisfaction of a good fart. Because a fart can be all well and good until it's been pushed slightly too far and it feels like you've strained a fallopian tube. Not the same thing.) 

There’s nothing more freeing than a really good poo. That satisfying splash, that surprise ghostly diver where it disappears entirely. Small thrills in so confined a space. Dropping a dress size in one sitting.

You know that moment when you realise your grandparents know what sex is? When you can’t convince yourself any longer that they only had sex twice, out of necessity, to spawn your Mum and your Uncle? 

Well. Now you know that your Grandparents poo too. 

Nanny takes shits. Dear old Nanny and Grandad. Sat on the same toilet that you use when you stay round. Maybe while you’re asleep in the guest room next door. Pooing. Feeling lighter and prouder for pooing.

I think we could apply this to life. Let's get philosophical, if you will.

Whenever you think it’s just you: it’s your drama, it’s the end of your world. Maybe it’s actually like having a poo. 

We’re all doing it. Just nobody talks about it.