Jasen isn't a bathroom kind of guy. He believes in the great outdoors. He believes in feeling the elements while he does his business. He believes the whole world is his toilet.
My sister, her husband (whom at the time was her boyfriend), my dad, Jasen and I met for dinner one night at a local restaurant/bar. We'd just began dating again, and knew it was leading to marriage. I desperately wanted my Dad to like Jasen. This night definitely helped.
Talk of poo, gas and other tummy problems is always commonplace in my family. We call it the "Thrasher Belly." It's disgusting, I know, but it's my family. My dad has an especially severe case of Thrasher Belly, second only to his father. I finish a very close third, but that's beside the point.
This particular night Jasen and my Dad stuffed themselves into oblivion at dinner. And then it happened...Jasen got a case of Thrasher Belly. But apparently, he didn't feel comfortable curing said Thrasher Belly in the public bathroom.
Instead, my redneck husband felt much more comfortable in the bushes. The bushes outside. Beside the restaurant. And in an elderly woman's back yard. Nice fertilizer, I guess.
I was mortified. It was then that I found his secret stash of toilet paper in his truck, kept conveniently hidden for just such emergencies. Even now, he frequently squats beside a tractor, behind a truck door or somewhere in the woods...all while on a job site.
Lucky for me, my Dad finally felt comfortable around Jasen from this moment on. He'd joined the Thrasher Belly club, and took it to a new, if more disgusting, level. Our dinner discussions temporarily took a more subdued tone while my Dad dated his wife, but since they've been married the poo talk is back up and running.
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