Last Saturday I went to a wedding in Munich. Friends of my girlfriend were getting married. I hadn’t met the bride or groom before, and apart from one couple, who also live in London, I didn’t know any of the other guests either. Obviously I wanted to make a good impression. But I had a slight problem. My poo was more like wee. After fasting and taking the pre-colonoscopy laxatives my stools were really loose. In a matter of seconds my bag was going from empty to swinging heavily from my belly like a goldfish bag from the fairground. When I emptied it the contents oozed greasily down the inside of the toilet bowl like volcanic lava flowing down a mountainside. On contact with the water it spread out, creating a mushroom cloud effect under the surface. It was no thicker than Domestos. Technically you’d have to call it poo. You couldn’t fault its colour or smell; both were textbook, but it was just much, much runnier than what you might call your classic shit. Now I find the trouble with liquid shit is it’s more likely to leak. And a wedding is no place for a leaky bag. Not if you’re trying to make a good impression, as I was intent on doing. I had visions of standing to toast the happy couple and looking down to see a ring of poo seeping through my crisp white shirt. Something needed to be done. I was determined not to remembered by my fellow guests for years to come as ‘that nervous looking Englishman who smelt very much like a blocked drain’. That wasn’t going to be me. I wasn’t going to be the blocked drain guy. Smart, witty, charming, erudite, shiny of shoe and firm of handshake, yes; stinking of shit, hopefully not. So I decided to take action and take some Imodium. I’ve never had Imodium before. And I’m pleased to report it works a treat. My bag was as flat as a pancake all day. This meant I could pop it inside my trousers and wear my shirt tucked in, which these days is something of a luxury for me. (Personally I believe anyone over the age of 9 sporting an untucked shirt at a wedding should be frog-marched off the premises and given a severe ticking off, if not a damn good thrashing.) Such was my joy at having a non-filling, non-gurgling bag, all through the meal and the speeches I had to fight the urge to stand up and announce to the room, “Bet none of you can guess what I’ve got under my shirt?” This of course would have meant revealing my ‘secret’ and therefore defeating the purpose of taking the Imodium. So I bit my lip and kept schtum. I wouldn’t take Imodium regularly, but for those occasions where you would prefer to be free of the hassle of changing or emptying your bag, or you’d just like to wear you shirt tucked in for a while, then it’s definitely worth it. Pop a couple of Imodium tablets and you’ll be blocked up and freed up in no time at all.
Friday, June 26, 2009
To the happy couple - Imodium and me
Last Saturday I went to a wedding in Munich. Friends of my girlfriend were getting married. I hadn’t met the bride or groom before, and apart from one couple, who also live in London, I didn’t know any of the other guests either. Obviously I wanted to make a good impression. But I had a slight problem. My poo was more like wee. After fasting and taking the pre-colonoscopy laxatives my stools were really loose. In a matter of seconds my bag was going from empty to swinging heavily from my belly like a goldfish bag from the fairground. When I emptied it the contents oozed greasily down the inside of the toilet bowl like volcanic lava flowing down a mountainside. On contact with the water it spread out, creating a mushroom cloud effect under the surface. It was no thicker than Domestos. Technically you’d have to call it poo. You couldn’t fault its colour or smell; both were textbook, but it was just much, much runnier than what you might call your classic shit. Now I find the trouble with liquid shit is it’s more likely to leak. And a wedding is no place for a leaky bag. Not if you’re trying to make a good impression, as I was intent on doing. I had visions of standing to toast the happy couple and looking down to see a ring of poo seeping through my crisp white shirt. Something needed to be done. I was determined not to remembered by my fellow guests for years to come as ‘that nervous looking Englishman who smelt very much like a blocked drain’. That wasn’t going to be me. I wasn’t going to be the blocked drain guy. Smart, witty, charming, erudite, shiny of shoe and firm of handshake, yes; stinking of shit, hopefully not. So I decided to take action and take some Imodium. I’ve never had Imodium before. And I’m pleased to report it works a treat. My bag was as flat as a pancake all day. This meant I could pop it inside my trousers and wear my shirt tucked in, which these days is something of a luxury for me. (Personally I believe anyone over the age of 9 sporting an untucked shirt at a wedding should be frog-marched off the premises and given a severe ticking off, if not a damn good thrashing.) Such was my joy at having a non-filling, non-gurgling bag, all through the meal and the speeches I had to fight the urge to stand up and announce to the room, “Bet none of you can guess what I’ve got under my shirt?” This of course would have meant revealing my ‘secret’ and therefore defeating the purpose of taking the Imodium. So I bit my lip and kept schtum. I wouldn’t take Imodium regularly, but for those occasions where you would prefer to be free of the hassle of changing or emptying your bag, or you’d just like to wear you shirt tucked in for a while, then it’s definitely worth it. Pop a couple of Imodium tablets and you’ll be blocked up and freed up in no time at all.
