Poo Chronicles, Contd.

I read best in the loo. It's a childhood thing, in fact when I was 10 it made my mother tear one of my Enid Blyton St. Clares in half, but then the next day I had it taped back and was sticking it in the waistband of my skirt to take to the toilet. She never asked me what that suspicious rectangular shape was, sticking out of my abdomen at an odd angle, but she waited till I thought she was cool with it and the next time I stepped out of the toilet with a book in my hand, BAM! She shredded that book to bits. But I was a stubborn child and well... what I'm trying to say is, habits like this develop over time.
Anyhow, I read good when I poop. It's my little bit of "me-time", when I can pool my pants around my ankles and stretch my legs out and relax. I bust stress that way. (Stink? What stink? My poo smells like roses.) And while I usually spend about a half-hour in the loo each time, it's been down to ten minutes ever since I started that godforsaken book I mentioned in my previous post. I hate the hellish thing to bits, but I've never started a book that I didn't finish, and painful as it is, I'll see this thing to the end. And make sure I read all of it only in the comfort room.


NOTE: Elia Kazan, great man though he is acknowledged to be, ratted on his colleagues for being Commies at a time when Communists used to be hunted down and killed, which makes him a dick, and therefore makes it okay to hate his work.