Why You Shouldn’t Be Afraid To Go To The Bathroom When You’re On A Date

Greetings, sweet kittens. Its me, Zara, your digital big sister.

While I love the weekend as much as the next free-wheeling, high heel-wearing, winged liner-sporting, booze-swilling, red-lipsticked PARTY GIRL, 99.9 percent of the mistakes Ive made in my life have taken place during the weekend. Ive spent one too many Mondays spiraling down the dark vortex of weekend guilt, regret and shame.

But hey, dont fret. Because Im going to be here every Friday to stop you from the awful weekend fuckups that are screwing up your life. Heres this weeks Very Important PSA.


Guys, I know youre going to think this is really, truly disgusting, but I have a very important PSA for this weekend:

Dont NOT go to the bathroom because youre trying to be a LADY.

Now, look, some of you might think because Ive written about some pretty crass topics, that I, Zara Barrie, am very liberal about going to the bathroom.

This is simply not true. I might as well be an Orange County housewife married to the Republican Senator of Newport Beach Im so damn prim about bathroom issues. I mean, I used to live in Connecticut.Girls just dont go to the bathroom in Connecticut.

However, Ive suffered the dire consequences of holding it in more times than I care to count. In fact, you better believe when Im in a new relationship, I totally screw my body up because I trytoact like this PERFECT, nonhumancreature that doesnt have basicexcretory needs.

I wont even go number one around a new flame for a while. I want to be some sort of brunette,lesbian barbie doll, without bodily functions. I want to be made of plastic, not flesh.

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I dont even know where thisissue camefrom. My family is English and notorious for loudly discussing their farts over $22 glasses of wine at Michelin-starred restaurants, for Gods sake.

I didnt grow up with one of those old-school mothers who says things like, Girls should be seen, not heard. I grew up with an outrageous, bikini model motherwho drinks champagne like its water and has no problem telling anyone who will listen to fuck off.

Ive watched my mouth agape in horror as my own sister freely farts in front her husband. And he just laughs and farts back at her. The whole thing is so sick, its practically out of a horror movie.

OK, Im getting a little off-track, sweet kittens. But can you blame me? Its been the longest week (with the torturous debate); the twisted, political times are haunting our entire nation; its rained all day and its just been grim for the past seven days.

But my point is, Im not like my family. I dont go farting in front of mypartner because that will kill mysex life. I dont pee with the door open, and I dont talk about mytoilet habits at all, OK?

But what I HAVE done is something that you should NEVER do and thatsholding it all in.

I drink a gallon of water (for superficial reasons) per day. And yet, when Im seeing someone new, Ill hold in pee so bad that it hurts.

I dont know what happens, but this bizarre wave of shyness suddenly washes over me and I become too paralyzed to even ask a new bae where the bathroom is in her apartment.

I just dont want her to imagine me going to the bathroom. Plus, Im traumatized from a bad, toilet-clogging date experience that practically ruined my teens. I dont want to risk a toilet malfunction, and I dont want her to think of me perched on a toilet not before weve had sex at least 10 times.

Um, dont you have to go to the bathroom? a girl once asked me when we were curled up in bed. We just had sex for the first time, and yes, I had to go to the bathroom badly.

But I was completely frozen. I was so frozen that I knew if I tried to go, I wouldnt even be successful because I suffer from pee-fear, on top of everything else.

I mean, as if OCD, anxiety and depression werent enough, lets just throw pee-fear into the mix!

Im FINE, I answered her, my voice a little too hysterical to be believable.

You know, its OKto go the bathroom, she says, as if she were talking to a small child.

I KNOW. I JUST DONT HAVE TO GO, OK? I said, losing it. Clearly, she triggered something dark inside of me, so she let it go after that.

Yeah, she let it go, and I got a urinary tract infection because we all know we need to pee after sex or else were hopping on the painful, UTI train. And thats no fun for anyone, is it now?

It was all becauseI was trying to be a fucking lady!

Not only did I suffer through the infection (which lasted two weeks), but I suffered through it without seeing a doctor because I was a goddamn freelance actress without health insurance at the time. Not my best look, kids.

Speaking of shitty experiences, lets talk about number two. Like I said, Im extremely shy about this subject, so Im going to channel my inner child and say number two, instead of the proper medial terms or street slang.

The second Im relatively knocked out of my routine, Im one of those people who cant go to the bathroom at all. I dry up like the Sahara.

Ive struggled with being regular (in more ways than one, honey) my entire life, so if Im blessed with the urge to, um, go its imperative I seize the opportunity.

Who knows when Ill be so lucky again? But alas, when Im anywhere except my own apartment with no one not even a pet in my nearby surroundings, I freeze up with fear. I just cant go. Actually, its not so much that I cant, its that I just wont.

This is fucking worse than the fiery pits of Avenue D when I get into a new relationship. I cant tell you how sick Ive made myself.

When a new GFmentions a couples vacation, I internally recoil. I know what a couples vacation means: me doubled over in pain because I didnt go the bathroom right away, and now, it backfired and Im WILDLY constipated.

Yep. Its a total party, baby. So romantic not to have gone number two in five days.

And nothing will kill your sex life like being constipated or just having stomach issues in general. You dont feel sexy when youre bloated, and you sure as hell dont feel sexy if youre backed up.

So thats why you need to GO when you have to go, regardless of where you are.Learn from my mistakes.

I got so sick earlier this year that I developed IBS and had to start taking really expensive probiotics every single day of my life. It was a tormenting time. My skin broke out, and my work suffered.

So now, I just go when I feel the need. It might be unladylike, but you know whats really unladylike? Being doubled over in pain, screaming in acute agony because you have trapped gas, and youre totally unable to have sex because its so painful.

Yeah, thats NOT sexy, mate. You might as well be peeing with the door wide open and shaving your armpits in front of your partner. They will know whats going on. There is a specific facial expression all women makewhen theyre holding it in, and its a dead giveaway.

Plus, Ive learned some tips and tricks sinceI vowed to retire that life.

I love Poo-Pourri. Its a small spray you spritz directly into the toilet before you go, and it covers up all the unpleasant scents.

I also love Joe Malone fragrances as an after-bathroom spray. I know its expensive to use a designer fragrance strictly for your bathroom issues, but HEY, girl, its discreet.

You wont have to stand there speechless and humiliated about your cover being blown when a bottle of Poo-Pourri comes tumbling out of your bag after youve dropped it on the pavement.

Some perfumes mix strangely with post-number two smells, but the classic, Jo Malone Basil and Neroli is perfect. I tried it, so you dont have to, honey!

Also, a friend of mine taught me a trick last week one Ive not only implemented into my dating life, but into my work life, too.

Layer the toilet water with toilet paper, and no one will hear the sound of your feces falling into the water. Its the worst sound in the world. I think its worst than farts, even. In fact, Im bright red in the face writing about that horrible splashing sound.

But as your lesbian big sister, its my civic duty to share these kinds of things with you, even if it means making myself the most undateable creature on the planet.

So if youre nervous to pee, just go. Thats the easy one. You have deep, psychological issues (like me) if you cant even bring yourself to pee on a date, and you need to seek therapy (which I did, and look how great Im doing now).

And if you just ate a big dinner and HAVE to go, but youre ashamed and dont want your date to know youre a real person because youre still trying to be that glittering, fantasy girl, I hear you. I see you. I am you.

But you need to work through it. We can work through it together.

Imagine me lying on the couch in your new baes studio apartment, watching you guys salaciously make out, my brow furrowed in judgement.

Im judging you because I was at the restaurant, lurking in the windows during your date, and I saw you eat that burrito, girl. And we all know what happens after you eat a burrito. I know you have to go. You cant fool a fool.

I know (and you know) if you dont go RIGHT now, your body willturn on you, and weeks will go by before you can go again!

Im waving a bottle of Jo Malone fragrance in front of my face (because I have no respect for the price of anything), and Im whispering, Just go, babe. Just go, babe. JUST GO, GIRL.

You stop your date mid-make-out and strut over to me in your sky-high heels. Your shimmery-shadowed eyes take in the sight of me laying there in my hot-pink, silk, leopard-print, Betsy Johnson pajama set. Im dressed for bed, but like a real queen, I have a full face of pancake makeup on. My mascara is so thick, my lashes look like spider legs.

We exchange a sweet smile, you grab the fragrance out of my buffed fingers and off you go to the precious bathroom, baby girl.

And youre ~free~ now. Now, you can have bloat-free sex, and because I taught you the toilet paper/fragrance trick, you can go whenever you dang please. Even the classiest ladies need to expel the poison, and both you and I are known to like our poisons.

Message me if your imagination fails you, your bowels tenseup and youre afraid to go. Ill give you the sisterly words of encouragement you need. Youre safe with me, your trusty, lesbian big sister, here to rescue you from the pitfalls of IBS, unwanted bloating and the intolerable pain of trapped-in gas.

So Ill see you next week. And next week will be better because youll have relieved the stress of going in baes apartment.

Its a new you. Youve gotten rid of the fear. You flushed your anxiety down the toilet, youve been released and youre gorgeously free to live your LIFE free of constipation, babe.

XO,

Zara, Your Lesbian Big Sis

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