our love of books thanks to the loo
It's by far the quietest space in the house. With the choice of to lock or not lock the world out of your most private affairs, the bathroom has always been my supreme choice. It's well-lit warmth, mirrored recognition, clean tiles, soapy tidings and that minty fresh aftersmell. The little things i love about the mornings are so often affiliated with the loo.
I remember my brother had the same love of the bathroom as I, although he opened my eyes to a whole other extreme sport to be associated with it. "Poop Sessions" was our term for a prolonged bowel movement paired with an exciting book. The shit itself lasted as long as any other shit...5-10 minutes tops. these Poop Sessions included more than a good relieving...we emptied our waste and filled our minds. We yould read ourselves poopless, and then some. Entire novels were finished during a good Poop Session. The entire Tintin collection.....completed while taking the best shits ever. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes...(volume 1 AND 2) all read on the loo. Moby Dick? Enjoyed thoroughly on the pot. We became so enthused at this, this room in the house with the best window for lighting, no unwanted visitors (except for the occasional knock from a parent asking if we had fallen in), and no noise exceot for a quiet rustling of turned pages or a flush. These moments were luxurious moments that no one could take away.
After a while we fought over these beloved toliet moments. Inevitably, the TP would run out. We'd yell for the other for reinforcements, a book delicately balanced on the edge of the tub or sink would tragically fall overboard, the toliet itself would back up, or the worst...an unwelcome visitor would need use of our lovely loo. A premature breakage of a Poop Session would consist of leaving the restroom in a huff and a cloud of rolled eyes with a twinge of poo smell, we'd "patiently" wait for the pisser to be done and immediately resume our post with bound gusto on our porcelian pot of concentration.
To this day my love of the loo remains the same, although to the less extreme. This private room of cleanliness...out with the old, in with the new.
I remember my brother had the same love of the bathroom as I, although he opened my eyes to a whole other extreme sport to be associated with it. "Poop Sessions" was our term for a prolonged bowel movement paired with an exciting book. The shit itself lasted as long as any other shit...5-10 minutes tops. these Poop Sessions included more than a good relieving...we emptied our waste and filled our minds. We yould read ourselves poopless, and then some. Entire novels were finished during a good Poop Session. The entire Tintin collection.....completed while taking the best shits ever. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes...(volume 1 AND 2) all read on the loo. Moby Dick? Enjoyed thoroughly on the pot. We became so enthused at this, this room in the house with the best window for lighting, no unwanted visitors (except for the occasional knock from a parent asking if we had fallen in), and no noise exceot for a quiet rustling of turned pages or a flush. These moments were luxurious moments that no one could take away.
After a while we fought over these beloved toliet moments. Inevitably, the TP would run out. We'd yell for the other for reinforcements, a book delicately balanced on the edge of the tub or sink would tragically fall overboard, the toliet itself would back up, or the worst...an unwelcome visitor would need use of our lovely loo. A premature breakage of a Poop Session would consist of leaving the restroom in a huff and a cloud of rolled eyes with a twinge of poo smell, we'd "patiently" wait for the pisser to be done and immediately resume our post with bound gusto on our porcelian pot of concentration.
To this day my love of the loo remains the same, although to the less extreme. This private room of cleanliness...out with the old, in with the new.