I was hoping to put off my first medic-anal inspection until at least the age of 50 when that whole colon cancer issue tends to become worrisome. So let the fact that I've been checked-out by smart NYC docs serve as proof that I'm fairly educated on the matter, and capable of making a sound recommendation on it. There's no conclusion jumping here. Just cold, prickly truth.
The bottom line was that toilet paper was creating a highly unsatisfactory situation for me and my ass and after about a year of dealing with it, going to the doctor and applying various salves, I'd had enough. By then it was really painful. So one day after an excruciating walk home from work I stopped at a pharmacy and spent a couple dollars on a small pack of flushable wet wipes. After all, the docs (proctologist and a general practitioner) had no idea what was wrong. Within a couple days of using wet wipes, the pain-in-my-ass was gone. Vanished. Erased. Consider - I couldn't sit, walk, or really move without feeling a searing pain shoot up my colon, beginning at the ole' balloon knot.
Let me take a moment to say that prior to this whole thing starting I consider myself an above satisfactory wiper. Nuff said.
It's also probably worth noting at this point that the most common response I get when telling this story is "well, you should stop sticking things up there and that'll solve it." So let me add that I'm not a practitioner of that type of activity (no offense to anyone that is, I'm just not!), so it wasn't a factor to begin with, but believe me when I say I wish it was that easy. But that's beside the point. I'm a story teller, and since everyone loves a good pain-in-the-ass story, I am not shy about telling it.
Another common response I get when I remark about the wonders of wet wipes is that only women and babies should use them, which all but insinuates that I'm some kind of sissy. Surely, if these jokers knew the pain I was in, they'd spare me the world their off color commentary. However, it's not always possible to explain that part of the tale right away, so I developed this response:
"Say for a moment you're doing something, maybe just walking down the street minding your own business. You're just strolling along, enjoying the sun and the birds chirping and people smiling as they walk by. You're just living your life, not hurting anyone. And then, out of nowhere, a jerk (or even an asshole) runs up to you and smears shit on your face. Right on your face. A little bit of it gets in your eye, and on your bottom lip. You now have someone's poop, on your face. This is human feces, btw, none of that all-grass cow shit you see in your neighbor's garden. This is people poop. It's brown. It's poopy. You can smell it and before you can even stop to assess what the hell just happened, the poop starts making your eyes tear up. After all, it's vile shit. Oh my God now it's in your eye socket. The shit may have entered your blood stream. The situation is dire."
This is where I stop to let the idea really sink in, because, frankly people don't think about this kind of thing enough. And who can blame them. I mean, fine, a good old poop smearing isn't that common. However, it is common to share a bathroom with loads of other people. Every time you notice the aroma of someone else's crap at your workplace restroom, you're inhaling particles of your coworkers' feces right into your lungs.
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