If someone was to look, as I presume you are doing, at these two pictures of me, you’d be allowed to think that my life has been a waste of time. No children, no car, no fancy holidays, no pets, no wedding ring. Instead, I’ve gone from having someone unapologetically farting on my shoulder to holding a bag full of my own poo while sitting alone on my toilet box in 5 degrees celsius. I really didn’t want to take part in this social media frenzy, but you’ve busted the balls I don’t have to such an extent with your life achievement pictures, that I had to step in and reclaim the right to have a shit life.
In fact, though, my life has not been shit at all. Or at least not all the time. The pictures tell the truth. Some ten years ago, I’ve let many people fart on my shoulder. And on my face, hands, elbows, belly button and everywhere else. I would go like: ‘Sure, go ahead.. wait, you’re not just done yet, fart a little bit here, and a little bit more here too. Oh thank you so much, you’re so kind.’ Then I would go home smelling like a fart and feeling like shit without really understanding why. It has taken me years to understand that it’s not a nice thing to be farted on, and that those who do it to you are not nice people – even though they claim to be so – and you should just walk away (while happily farting in their faces). I can’t say that I am now immune to flatulists, but I can fight back (that’s why sometimes I don’t throw the poo bags in the bin and store them on board. You’ve got to be always prepared!) And so fast forward ten years, that’s where I am today: proudly sitting on my toilet, unafraid of showing you my shit, even if I know some of you think I’m a bit disgusting. I don’t care. Or better, I do a little, but I know I can’t be appreciated by everyone. And that’s OK.
PS: Epic picture by Cristina. Thank you.