And on the 5th day, I found poop in the bed.

I read something a few days ago about reasons men shoot their wives. They weren't all as obvious as you might imagine. Yes 1) the deceitful love affair and 2) an entire career's savings spent on shopaholic therapy were on the list, but a lot of the others were quite mundane. So it started me to wonder, could this fight Sam and I are having over poop be on the list one day?

"You are suppose to poop at least 3 times every day." Sam is so confident in matters concerning bodily functions.

"I'm not the same as you, and I am just fine going once every 3 days." After all, I am well acquainted with my own waste elimination schedule. 

"No you can't be, and you have to do something about it." Sam implies that the amount of built up waste in my body is too much for either of us to bare.

"Are you even listening to me....?" This is one of my secret trump cards. Because I feel like once I lay this line on the table, he starts to doubt if he is actually listening to me. And then I have more time to keep talking.

"I told you we would have a fight this week." I added, so that he knew I was right again.

Last week, I had to sell my body to Prednisone for an inflamed tube in my ear or something like that. I am incredibly sensitive to medication of any kind, and I despise taking a steroid. But I was feeling dizzy and pain in my ears, so I accepted the prescription for Prednisone. I gave Sam full warning that we'd end up in a fight in about 3 days, but I did not know it would be over poop.

It's been nearly 5 days now without the proper elimination. This not only feels awful but it also increases the score on Sam's side. He is absolutely right, that I cannot be ok "full of this much poop." We talk about this after each bottle of water I drink, after each fiber bar I eat and about every couple hours. 

By the afternoon of the 5th day, I decided I would clean my house really good. I think if I move around a lot, I can make something happen. I start by taking off the sheets in the guest room. And there it was - poop in the bed. Dog poop actually on the bed sheets. (Just to be clear, the culprit dog was an over night guest we had).

Life isn't fair sometimes. While I wait for my body to eliminate its waste, I have to clean up after a dog who I think wanted to make a point for Sam. Did I really wish so hard for poop that it showed up like this?