The Reading Room, or TMI

I used to think, going to the bathroom, what a waste of time. It was one of those questions for God I was collecting. What's up with the platypus? Why fleas? Why do we need to eliminate? Why is that efficient? Why aren't we green? Wouldn't it be ever so much more efficient, and less violent, and easier to boot, to photosynthesize? Just get some sunlight or a vitamin D3 supplement and you're good to go. No muss, no fuss, no cutting down our cousin trees to make toilet paper, no wasted time. But then, I realized, I would never know the joy of a pepperoni pizza fresh out of the oven with cheese so hot and stringy it literally attacks and attaches to your lips. I would never know how to cool down my throat with a lovely long pull on a frosty glass of imperial stout. I would never get to see a three-in-the-morning Montana sky with all those Milky Way stars shining down on me like something out of a van Gogh. Mostly, I would never get to enjoy the wasted time spent in the bathroom, going, cleaning, preening, trimming, brushing, going again. Sitting. Reading. I make great progress on a book while on the throne. I will never complain about elimination. In fact, I look forward to potty breaks. The peace, the quiet, the satisfaction, the relief, the two pages closer to the end. And besides, without all of this I would never understand why my four year old granddaughter CharleeRose thinks that poots and toots are the funniest words she ever heard.