Surely you've seen him. The handsome actor of questionable Asian descent (immediately and affectionately deemed a "cousin" by our crack in-house staff of lay-genealogists) has become an ubiquitous symbol of friendly, gentle bowel rehab, an anti-anal-retentive guru for the uptight, pent-up white bread American.
A group to which I am a card-carrying member.
Ajay Mehta is even less threatening than Jamie Lee Curtis with her fancy yogurt, and THAT is saying something. (Although that whole Halloween history works against her just a wee bit IMHO.)
The fact that Mr. Mehta (an Indian, according to the all-knowing Wiki folks) works on a marketing campaign for something inherently designed to make you feel like he sounds..... chillaxed, Calgon-ed away, and most importantly, REGULAR, says a little something about his home culture.
Indians can poop like there is NO tomorrow. I think it's a genetic gift. A gift akin to, say, flying. Or becoming invisible at-will. Or ESP. I should know, because I'm married to a guy who never lets a cross-Atlantic flight stop him up, never has to "run home to let out the dog," and never gets that "not so fresh" feeling that often accompanies a few days of digestive immobility.
I believe it to be nature, rather than nurture that accommodates him so happily. Even on an American diet, he has remained more regular than Old Faithful. His children have NEVER had to eat a "fiber cookie," never had a haemorrhoid, rarely even have a "push face" - you know, the one that is so endearing to see on a toddler? The only way you know they're working hard?
While this genetic superpower obviously has its upside: schedule-ability, resultant easy-going attitudes; it also has a decidedly negative point: MY GAWD, THE SMELL.
I can lysol the bejeezus out of my bathrooms, I can change the diaper pail 3X daily, but good gravy you can tell this house is filled to the brim with MEN.
Very happy, relaxed, Buddha-like men, who never met a potty they didn't give a test-run. And by (big finger quotes here) "test-run," I mean Gone in 60 Seconds/Fast&Furious/RUSH HOUR - style rehearsals.
Note to self: check DVR for F&F reruns.....
I, otoh, being that card-carrying victim of white bread dietary obstruction, luuuuurve me some Fiber One in any/all carnations. My only issue is this: like the tater chips which by DESIGN necessitate the need for F1 in the first place...
Once I pop, I can't stop. Muffins, pancakes, bars, oh my.......
'S'cuse me, I have to go let the dog out.
2 comments:
Lol! That was hilarious. I wish I had some Indian in me because yes, this white girl definitely needs her Fiber One!
FUNNY! My hubby is a southern boy and he's regular like a little ol' church lady. No Indian in his family. He's Welsh and Irish.
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