Some of the best poo stories come from impoosters – runny poos masquerading as farts.
Here’s how NOT to impress your new, hygiene-freak flatmate.
Several years ago I arrived in Sydney and found an apartment with a fairly stand-offish girl who was a germ Nazi.
One night I was finalising a work project for which the deadline was the next morning. Feeling green around the gills, I went to bed at midnight, hoping to feel better the next morning so I could finish the job off.
Early in the morning I was still feeling sick, so had a shower to freshen up. I was standing naked at the washbasin brushing my teeth, when I felt a bellyful of a fart brewing.
Looking forward to the relief, I let my wind fly free. But to my shock, it wasn’t all wind. Carried along with the forceful blart was at least a gallon of foul-smelling, brown bacterial porridge that sprayed everything behind me in a wide cone of terror.
Under normal circumstances, the new pattern on my flatmate’s towel may have passed as an early Pro Hart. But to me, it looked like an eviction notice. That, and the sloppy mess on the wall, floor, bathmat and my legs, told me I might not meet my work deadline.
Although feeling dreadful now, with cold sweats and dizziness, I started cleaning. Out came the disinfectant and mop, and in went her towels and bathmat into the washing machine. And I had another shower.
I ended up meeting my deadline. Then I went to bed. And my flatmate never asked why her bathroom smelled like a hospital, or why I’d replaced her towel.
The moral? BEWARE of impoosters!
