What a delightful article. There is one aspect of pooping in a relationship that you did not cover and I’ll get to that in a minute….

First, let me hereby publicly admit that I’m a wadder. I do not, however, fit your psychological profile of a wadder. I am not a gregarious extrovert (unless the situation demands it), I am obsessively focused on detail, and my sense of humor usually sends people running for the hills.

I fit more closely the profile of a folder. I am a freakishly anal retentive control freak, I’m a reliable self-sufficient planner who is obsessed with details, and sadly I’m more rigid than spontaneous.

And now for the relationship aspect not covered in your delightful article….

Back a hundred years ago when I was last married, I had no problem peeing in front of my wife or being in her presence as she peed. But when it came to pooping the bathroom door was always closed to her. It was probably the only line of intimacy that I would not cross. After twenty years of marriage I never even knew if she was a wadder or a folder and she never knew my preference.

Curiously, I had no problem pooping while the dog sat on the bathroom floor watching me. Does this mean that my relationship with the dog was more intimate than my relationship with my wife? More compatible? Maybe so.

Anyway, I am sure glad doggies don’t use toilet paper. We would need to chop down a hell of a lot more trees if they did and, as some people know, I’m a rabid tree-lover. Heck, I feel guilty every time I wipe my ass.