Relationship advice // How soon is too soon?

You’ve met a boy. You really like him. You’ve been dating for a few months and it’s all going rather swimmingly. You’re seeing each other exclusively and it’s only a matter of time before you both utter the ‘L’ word – ‘lubrication’. Kidding! Love, I meant love, obviously… *rolls eyes, vomits in mouth a little bit*).
He lights you up like Blackpool Tower and you speak to each other ten trillion times a day.

So. When should you start thinking about ‘it’? You know – doing it?
Should you wait until you’re both totally comfortable in each other’s company or should you just let it happen naturally?
Should you let him know when you’re ready and broach the subject about the best time and place?
Should it be round yours or his – or even in a public place?

It’s the age old question we’ve all asked ourselves: how soon is too soon? How far into the relationship before you…

…have a poo in his presence???

Yeah, you heard.
I’m not talking about the first time you do IT, I’m talking about the first time you, er, have a shit (sorry).
This is a much bigger deal for girls than most boys realise. Will our breaking wind break the relationship? Will going for a dump result in being dumped? Etc.

Clearly, I’m the go-to ‘poo’ person in my circle of friends, as several close acquaintances have recently discussed this grey area (brown area?) with me.

One is in a new relationship.
She’d rather swallow glass then let her boyfriend eyeball one of her brownies.
They recently went on holiday together and she awoke at 3am every day not just to reapply her make-up (yes boys, we do that too – but that’s a whole other blog post about girl ‘tricks’ to impress you) but to do a discreet poo.
She’d sneak back into bed afterwards and was feeling pretty pleased with this tactic – until her fella admitted on the last day that she’d woken him up every night and – CRINGE – he’d had to lie there in the darkness listening to her ‘movements’. But he was too embarrassed to say anything.

My other friend was staying round her new boyfriend’s place for the first time when she had the sudden urge to sit atop the throne and pass a monster stool.
She hadn’t so much as hiccuped in his presence before. She excused herself and, er, relieved herself (steady).
Not only did it sound like a flute in a forest of wind but it left severe scorch marks on the porcelain. Several flushes later, it had blocked the U-bend and was still popping into the bowl. She was mortified and began to wonder if you could get drunk on Toilet Duck by means of escape. The trauma will colour every moment of the rest of her life like a blood-stained funeral veil.

A third friend was in the throes of a long (dirty) weekend with her boyfriend.
They were still in the Honeymoon period of trying to impress each other and keep up best appearances. She was consequently suffering the constipation of fat-period Elvis and had terrible trapped wind, but refused to bottom burp in his presence. As a result, on her return home, she didn’t stop farting for five days solid. *parp*
They currently have a long distance relationship which involves her cutting out fibre, beans, broccoli and any other fart inducing food before she visits him for the weekend and results in her derrière sounding like the wind section of the Philharmonic Orchestra on the return train journey home. *Toot toot!*

I now present you with Exhibit A: the scene from the Sex and the City episode entitled (tellingly) ‘The Drought’…

So. On the flip-side, there’s always the fear that feeling at ease enough to fart in each other’s presence is a sign your relationship has become too comfortable. Before you know it, you’ll be slumped in his-‘n’-hers slobber-stained trackies chomping cold take-away on the sofa night in, night out. Farting will become a kind of foreplay, trying to out-do the other’s gaseous exchanges. As Carrie discusses with Miranda post parp (yes, I know they’re not real people, but shush…):

Carrie: I farted. I farted in front of my boyfriend…
Miranda: And?
Carrie: And we’re no longer having sex. And he thinks of me as one of the boys. And I’m gonna have to move to another city where the shame of this won’t follow me.
Miranda: You farted, you’re human.
Carrie: I don’t want him to know that!

I even know of some couples who dump with the door open (I know, right?!), triumphantly showing off like it’s the Excrement Factor.

But having conducted some research into this*, I can safely say the matter of your, er, mucky matter, is not such a big deal for men. In fact we know this, really. They, after all, think it’s funny to subject us gals to Dutch Ovens** and the like. They’re hardly going to judge us for dashing to the loo to discreetly crimp one off. Are they?

The thing is, as REM once sang: Everybody Poos. And shit, as they say, certainly happens. Doesn’t it? Thoughts please…

– Natalie Wall