💩 too old for poo jokes? a quarter-ish life crisis
a sobering realisation.
Good evening everybody,
I would ask how you are, as usual. But tonight, I’m in no mood for small talk.
It has come to my attention that there is division in our ranks. I know the CEO has been OOO of late, but if you must know, I still think of my valued subscribers as employees. Every one of you has taken a pledge, signing away your email address, to be here tonight. While most of you are pleasant craftspeople, adding flair and energy with every ‘love heart react’, there are interlopers. It’s par for the course in any powerful establishment. Fugitives. Double agents. Moles.
i look friendly but i am watching
Last week, I caught one of them red-handed. He wasn’t any old employee – no, he was a high-ranking male in the management department. Some would say he is the CFO, others would consider him an ‘angel investor’, having sunk considerable amounts of cash into the making of this business by way of a private school education and rent-free lodgings in my earlier years as a sprightly upstart.
He, ladies and gentlefolk, is my father.
pictured: happier times
It pains me to even include that image as I feel so genuinely betrayed.
I hear you asking – what on earth did he do to you, darling CEO? Don’t you have a relatively secure relationship, hallmarked with humour and strengthened by eccentric nicknames à la Frog In A Top Hat? Well, sit down on your ergonomic chair and spin cos the backstabbing I’m about to detail will have you hunched over and gasping for air.
Here goes.
Last Wednesday, I decided to post a video on the internet. It was a spoof of a trend I had seen bouncing around where people say things like, “I’m a teacher, of course I have a lanyard!” and “I’m a car salesman, of course I rip people off to pay for my entitled daughter’s private school education and rent-free lodgings!”
The trend appealed to me because it was so 2015. It reminded me of those five-minute-long Facebook videos that were like, “Things Hairdressers Say!”. It had me equal parts nostalgic for a simpler time, and shocked by the fact 2015 was almost a decade ago.
As with most trends, I was woefully late to jump on the bandwagon. Still, I persisted, asking my dear friend Michael to film videos of me being ‘Froomes’.
In the now-deleted video, I chronicled all the things I do. “I’m Froomes, of course I’ve got the goulash on tap!” I said, huffing and puffing on rollerblades. “I’m Froomes, of course I look at this meme every three hours for my mental health,” I continued.
it speaks to me on an incomprehensible level, one that is likely only accessed via the consumption of copious amounts of psilocybin maybe with some weed mixed in
The video pushed some blue humour boundaries, too.
Upon taking a whiff of Britney Spears’ ‘Fantasy’ perfume, I said it reminded me of girls in high school who doused themselves in it to mask their malodorous secretions.
But that wasn’t the bit that had me undone. Instead, it was an innocuous reference to the poo stool – a once crucial element of my online existence.
“I’m Froomes, of course I’m taking a massive dump with a pool stool!” I said.
What happened next will shock you.
I sent the video to Frog. He had a small cameo in it, which is always a surefire way to get him watching on repeat. “Do you like the video?” I texted.
Crickets.
After an hour, I decided to call him, eager to hear the praise delivered vocally.
“So what did you think?”
He hesitated. “Yes it was good,” he said, but I could practically hear him shifting in his seat. “Hmph,” he continued, and I braced for impact. “Don’t you think you’re getting too old for poo jokes?”
a reaction gif, in keeping with the 2015 theme
This response was hurtful for many reasons. First of all, it came mere weeks before my 29th birthday. I like to think that the slow rot doesn’t affect me – I take pride in saying “I’m excited to turn thirty!” as my contemporaries bemoan it by hosting ‘death of my twenties!’ parties. But it must weigh on some far-off corner of my mind.
Second of all, hearing this criticism from my father in particular hit me differently. It was coming from a man who would bid adieu to my extended family after a gathering by bending over and spreading his cheeks apart to the horror of all those who bore witness.
He had fed me on an unfettered diet of extreme-level poo jokes, chocolate starfish and all, only to revoke his support at the 11th hour as I contemplate my purpose and ‘personal brand’ in the world as a woman approaching thirty. How could he?
I couldn’t hide my upset on the phone. I took a beat then said, “Oh, ok” followed by a desperate “really?” and a snarky “well, should I delete the video then?”
Frog did some backtracking, but for the first time in years, I said “Hey I’ve got to go” and hung up before he could say goodbye. It was a humiliating experience, all in all. I had spread cheek online only for it to have splashed back, smattering not only my digital reputation but also my family life.
u know it’s serious when the bribing in iMessage begins
I am not made of Teflon, and unfortunately, Frog’s condemnation had me hit for six. I hate to admit weakness, particularly to my employees. But after sitting on the video for a few days, I decided to archive it. This, of course, after it had been viewed one hundred and three thousand times, presumably by my peers and ex-prospects. I pictured all of them watching my video on the toilet, behind closed doors of course, smug and satisfied with my self-inflicted humiliation.
The question remains – is it time to hang up my poots?
I’m reminded here of a regret I still harbour from 2019.
It was midyear, and I had recently engaged in a romantic tryst with a cultured man we will call Mr X. I was very much enamoured by his sophisticated lifestyle. “You are intelligent and funny,” he told me. Despite the fact this compliment was delivered pre-coitus – hypothetic lube – I took it for face value. It was now an empirical fact, checked by a verified source no less.
I dined on this compliment months after the fact, and I am afraid to say it rubbed off on my digital presence. I began tailoring my jokes to what I thought he thought was intelligent and funny, despite the fact we were no longer in regular contact.
Before posting anything, I thought, “What would Mr X think?”. A dark period.
This led me to forgo posting one of my favourite-of-all-time investigative pieces, “Would you rather smell a burp or a fart?” to my Instagram:
The regret I have for not posting this has nothing to do with the potential engagement it could have garnered. No. The regret is something deeper – the kind of regret you feel when you ignore your instinct. When you tailor yourself to another person’s imaginary taste. When you place another person on a pedestal and prop your feet on another in silence.
You see, the poo jokes are probably a good barometer for my state of mind. When I am trying to impress people, I tend to simmer the poo jokes down to a slight rumble. I’ll let one slip here and there, but they are cushioned by more ‘high brow’ content. The latter doesn’t come easy for me. I’m like a child raised on chicken nuggets (poo jokes) who is then forced to eat quail (make jokes about politics 😔) to appease the all-knowing master.
But the fact of the matter is, I find them funny. I can’t help it. I always have.
i blame mike
So what is the moral of this story, poo girl?
It’s simple. It is about forgiving yourself if you ever squeeze yourself into a circle or a triangle or whatever else Missy Higgins said to impress an imaginary audience. Do you go to Melbourne and suddenly start dressing in all-black? Do you sign off with “peace biatch” to your workmates, reserving “kind regards” for the boss? Do you hold in a fart, giving yourself a stummy ache, when you’re with your crush?
I’d like to say to you, fart! Wear orange and green at the same time, like a pinafore and also leggings but not in a cool way, to Hope St Radio! Use exclamation marks and disrespect your local CEO.
I know that delivering this sermon is hypocritical given I did archive the video. What I am advocating for though is the liquidation of shame. I was caught in a bind with the video – too embarrassed to leave it up, too ashamed to delete it and concede defeat.
The only way to free myself was to look in the mirror and say:
“I’m Froomes, of course I am learning to trust my gut and if my gut says I should delete the video I should delete it and not feel bad for doing it cos making the video was fun anyway andit’s all part of this crazy thing called life also I need to look at the baby on the pottery wheel again for mental health reasons so I will go and do that now.”
In the words of P!nk, life is a trust fall, baby. No matter what you choose, someone or something will be there to catch you. It mightn’t be your Dad at first, but it could be a steaming ‘Pile of Poo’ emoji, also known informally as the poomoji.
Froomy!
Impooccable as per. The laughter this update elicited massaged my subsequent supper stool to slip slop slap into the ceramic throne I am now perched upon 🩵🦋🫧
Never stop the poo jokes!! They're top tier and we want to hear them all :)