How do you go when you go?

There's a place we all must go to undertake the most personal of business, some sooner than others, and some more readily and even frequently than others; a place of inevitability, when, come hell or high water, there's just no holding back any longer, and the act of extrusion fills our very being, blocking out all other thoughts.  The mathematically inclined self proclaimed genteel among us refer to this as the second numeral (number two), as though the act itself was only an afterthought, like an addendum to the main performance of urination (number one), although I suspect the latter is the support act to the former principle entertainment. 

To some, this rearward pointing act comes easily and lasts but a fleeting moment, while, to others, perhaps less particular in our choice of diet, it is tortuously drawn out and is preceded by rumblings and gaseous emissions akin to pre-eruption volcanic activity.  Then there's the most cruelly afflicted among us, to whom the act, so initially full of the promise of ecstatic relief, is blocked by nature's cruelest joke, mid-session, when stultification stops the ejection and agony forestalls and painfully draws out the hidden projectile's inevitable journey from darkness into the light, torturing us with a forced expansion of the lowest orifice of our very being, far beyond the elastic limit, until it arrives at the inevitable rapturous final emission.

This act is undergone by us all, without exception, because ... 

When you've got to go, you've got to go!

But this particular post is not about the act itself, irrespective of whether it be self gratifying in its simplicity and duration, or hard, painful, or even aided by the insertion of appropriate lubrication (at this point I’ll give you a few moments to clear the tears from your eyes, no doubt induced by tortuous memories); nor is this a testament to the evolution of the instrument of excrement conveyance, be it referred as the Lav, Loo, WC, Crapper, Khazi, or Dunny, all of which I define in an earlier post at this link:  

https://www.bebee.com/producer/@ken-boddie/feeling-flush  

Rather, I hope to widen your appreciation of how variable the act and its associated tools of choice may be, and meanwhile perhaps stimulate the grey matter residing at and above the opposite end of your torso from that enclosing the 'orifice of going'. This I hope to do by addressing the various options of cleansing, at least one of which we must all choose, prior to leaving the smallest room in the building, which houses the conveyance variously referred, as above. 

So let’s examine the question (some might suggest culturally sensitive) of whether to wipe with paper or wash with water.  

It appears that paper is the prime preference picked by the preponderance of persons in western countries, including North America, UK and Australasia; although paper is reportedly also popular in China where, after all, it was invented. Unsurprisingly, however, washing off the residue of natural excrement expulsion is the method of choice in eastern countries, although it is not limited to the traditional cultural divide between east and west.  After all, the French traditionally gave us the bidet and the Japanese have raised it beyond a mere plumbers projectile to a comfort stop of technical excellence (more on this later). But for now, let's look at this extract from a recent BBC publication, which appears to get to the bottom (pun intended) of this comparison succinctly.

"The penchant in many Western countries for wiping after using the toilet – rather than rinsing off – is a source of puzzlement around the world. Water cleans more neatly than paper: at the risk of inspiring an “ew!”, imagine trying to remove chocolate pudding from your skin with tissue alone. Plus, while toilet tissue may not be as harsh as pieces of ceramic (used by ancient Greeks) or corn cobs (used by colonial Americans), we can all agree that water is less abrasive than even the softest five-ply."
Christine Ro in BBC Future.

Indeed, as we become more worldly diverse, it is not uncommon these days for individual households to adopt a similarly diverse blend of methodologies to cleanse the cavity, namely a jet of water and/or a wipe of toilet tissue and/or a clasp of baby wipes (often referred as 'wet ones'). 

Certainly, here in Australia, it is possible to purchase and install a fairly simplistic bidet seat to replace the standard hinged cover over the 'porcelain throne', and which cover, incidentally, is the subject of many an argument between the sexes (whether to leave the seat up or down).  But such bidet seats can be relatively expensive and are not as popular, particularly among ethnic Asian, ethnic African or Muslim households, as the simple tool known in Arab lands as the 'shattaf' and in Ocker English as the 'bum gun'.

On a recent trip to Japan, the Land of the Rising Sun, I had daily occasion to sample numerous 'comfort stop' delights while sitting atop various bidet 'thrones', where the touch of one button ejected water upwards, another control directed it precisely where it was needed, yet another controlled the temperature, and another facilitated a draft of hot air to complete the task in a spick and span manner.  Even more impressive was my entry, one morning, into the smallest room in my hotel chambers in a new port of call, when I was greeted, on approaching the throne, with the seat cover automatically rising, presumably in anticipation of my every hindmost ablutionary requirement. 

I have consequently formed the opinion that, when it comes to matters of the behind, our so called western society (whatever that means these days) is somewhat behind.  Furthermore, it appears that Japan may also bear the title of the Land of the Rising Seat.

Finally, then, let's recap on the options presented to us as cosmopolitan citizens, when business is complete and it's time to leave the throne.  Remember that sh*t happens and therefore we should always have a plan B.

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http://ken-boddie.squarespace.com

The author of the above, Ken Boddie, besides being a sometime poet and occasional writer, is an enthusiastic photographer, rarely leisure-travelling without his Canon, and loves to interact with other like-minded people with diverse interests.

Ken's three day work week (part time commitment) as a consulting engineer allows him to follow his photography interests, and to plan trips to an ever increasing list of countries and places of scenic beauty and cultural diversity.