Cut the Shit

You know what I never want to know about you? Other than the details of your medical history or what you dreamt last night or how drunk you got last weekend?
This: What you did in the toilet (or wherever you deposited whatever came out of your body after it finished doing the digestion thing).
I also don’t want to know what your baby did in his diaper. I especially don’t need to know what color it was.
And it doesn’t make it any less vile if you call the stuff “poo”, “poopie”, or — and this one I must close my eyes to type — “dookie”.
That is all.