I had to test my poop for three days.

Myself.

At home.

As much as I wax rhapsodic about poop and am happy when I do actually poop, the idea of this frightened me beyond the limits of comprehension.

I was given a kit that included a few paper sheets, wooden sticks, and some very vague instructions.

The idea was to float the sheets in the toilet, poop on the sheets, and retrieve a sample of said poop BEFORE it hit the bowl water.

This is not as easy as it sounds.

This is not easy at all.

You also have the option of crapping into a container and then proceeding from there, but I really didn’t feel like busting out the good Tupperware.

Anyway, I somehow managed to perform this feat three times and get my poop onto three slides.

I made sure to inform the J-Man that this poop-testing was going on, because I knew that he would be horrified.

“Guess what?”
“What?”
“There’s an envelope in the bathroom with my poop in it.”
“WHAT?”
“There’s-”
“I HEARD YOU. WHAT? WHY??”
“I am testing my poop for the doctor, isn’t that gross??”
“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR ANY MORE ABOUT THIS, AND GET IT OUT OF THE BATHROOM.”
“Wimp. Heheheheh.”
“You are so gross.”
“One day you may be called upon to do this, and you’ll remember.”
“NO I WON’T.”
“You might.”
“NEVER.”
“You might.”
“GRANDMA. TELL MOMMY TO STOP BEING GROSS.”
“I could go to school with you, do a show-and-tell all about poop-testing.”
“MOMMY.”

I can’t help it. He’s so fun to torture.

My mother then had the charming task of dropping my poop off at the doctor’s office. I was informed today that my poop is blood-free.

So, no colonoscopy.

YAY.

In other news, I have now lost forty pounds since December. Woot woot and all that stuff.

I’ve certainly lost it the hard way.

Happy Friday.

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