I will never date a woman who poops. That’s it, plain and simple. My fiance, well, ex-fiance and I had to split because I caught her pooping. Let me explain. I was on my way home from a long day of work when I received a text from her. It read, “The house is having some plumbing problems. Best avoid the house till the plumber fixes it.” I replied with, “No need, I am handy enough, I bet I could fix it with the tools in the garage.” She texted me back, this time seeming suspiciously adamant that I avoid the house for about an hour. At this point I began to suspect that she and the plumber were having an affair while I was away, and that she was trying to cover it up. I sped home, and when I walked in, I looked around. There, on the kitchen table, I saw a small bag of medicine from CVS. I opened the bag, only to find that instead of some normal medicine for a woman, she had bought extra strength laxatives. I grew cold and nauseous, I almost fell over. This couldn’t be her’s, could it? How could she do this to me? This was far worse than any cheating would have been. I sprinted to the bathroom. I heard low, high effort grunts from behind the locked door, along with small splashes. Dear. God. I jiggled the handle and screamed at her to open up. She was freaking out now, telling me not to come in. I ran to the garage, fished around until I found my grandfather’s trusty axe. Felled many a door in the past. I rushed back to the bathroom, and began chopping relentlessly at the door. She screamed and started crying. I finally had made a hole big enough to unlock the door from the inside. I practically kicked the door open, and burst into the bathroom. There, sitting on my pristine white porcelain, was my woman. She was shaking and crying, calling me a psycho. I was dead silent, just in utter disbelief. I heard a fart and a small splash. She looked at me, eyes wide, pleading. I turned away. 5 good years, down the drain in an instant. How could I be with her after her womanhood had been compromised like this? I felt so devastatingly betrayed. I asked her to leave, quietly. She started crying again and told me she loved me. I told her that she had thrown that love out the window and into a trash compactor when she decided to conceal her uncleanliness from me. She quickly stood up, gathered some belongings, and left, crying and shaking even harder than before, farting all the way out the door. I fell to my knees in the rubble of my bathroom door, alone again after all this time. But I felt better after realizing that this was my new chance to find a woman who didn’t poop. I would find love again.