I wake up and head straight for the bathroom. My bowels are really rumbling. Once on the toilet, I have to struggle more than usual. I have, in fact, left the bathroom door open with the expected need for ventilation. Finally, near exhausted, I have my movement. I wipe but there’s nothing there.
I get up and pull up my underwear and pants. Curious, I decide to look in the bowl before flushing. I am astonished to see that the toilet is filled with rose petals and, standing there in the morning light of the bathroom, I’m surrounded by the smell of the flowers.
I go to work in a better mood than usual.
During my lunch hour, I have to go to the bathroom but someone has made it there before me. I wait patiently outside. A few minutes later, Dan comes out, the newspaper folded under his arm. He looks somewhat guiltily at me, the smell of feces hanging about him like a malicious cloud. I pinch my nose closed with my fingers and mouth, “Pee-you.”
“What,” he says. “Your shit smell like roses?”
I smile broadly and nod my head.
“Yes,” I say. “Yes it does.”
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