Wheaties make me regular…holy shit!

The title says it all.

I’ve taken up eating Wheaties for breakfast every morning. I need the grain in my diet something awful. So for the past month it’s been a steady stream of Wheaties every morning. This was after I abandoned Raisin Bran because the bran part of the equation kept me so regular, I had a toilet seat ring permanently imprinted on my ass.

I haven’t eaten Wheaties since I was a kid. It’s my dad’s cereal of choice, and I remember hating it to death. Grape Nuts I loved. Wheaties I hated. Go figure. But I don’t ever recall in my entire life having the gastrointestinal reaction to this stuff like I’m suddenly having now. Is this a part of growing old? First comes the gray hair, then comes the explosive gas? What’s next, liver spots?

It’s not that I don’t appreciate regularity. Trust me, I so very much do. Especially after reading about the constipation blues that befall both Dooce and TranceJen. I’m extremely thankful for easygoing BM’s that occur like clockwork. But there’s something awful about having to dash off to the loo every thirty minutes when you’re at work. The lady who sits across from the restroom must think I’m either bullemic or pregnant.

And pooping at work is never fun, either. You want total privacy for something that intimate and, let’s face it, noisy and fragrant. But working in a big office building, there’s always someone crossing my path while I’m in there doing the deed. Most of the time they’re quick about it…they get the *hint* that I’m pooping and they try to give me the courtesy of making their tenure in the restroom a very short one. Sometimes, however, there’s some insane bastard who has no clue and thinks they’re going to occupy the stall right next to me and do the same thing…sit and wait for everyone else, including me, to vacate the restroom. This leads to a complete sit-off, where we both wait for the other one to head out before finishing our stuff. People should learn to not mess with me in that state, because I’m one patient motherfucker with a strongass rectal sphincter, and I can out-sit anybody. Yesterday some foolish woman tried to take me on, and finally gave up after fifteen minutes. HA! I RULE! I should get a crown.

But anyway…not sure if I’ll stay on this Wheaties jag. At least not without procuring some Gas-X or some shit like that. Beano maybe. Which my 70-something-year-old grandmother takes with every meal. If that doesn’t make me feel old, I don’t know what ever will.