This is a story that is ultimately about poop. I feel that as friends, it’s my job to tell you that up front.
This is a timely story as I feel incredibly fat right about now. PD is arriving within precious moments and as I cringe, waiting for his arrival, all I can think about is my bloated, fat, self. Without fail, each month, I convince myself that my fatness is not period bloat, but I am sure that I have in fact grown into a very fat human being. I am so convinced, that I force B to eat chicken and broccoli at each meal with me and set up a tent and sleeping bag at the gym, because I am NOT leaving that place until my pants fit appropriately.
So here we are again, facing the period fats and I’m reminded of an extreme moment in desperation to rid myself of the fats. Beyonce told me to, so L and I saddled up for…
Not just any cleanse. The Master Cleanse. For those of you unfamiliar, The Master Cleanse (it must be capitalized out of respect for the Master), is a looong period of time (14 days I think) where you replace ALL of your meals with a mixture of water, lemon juice, cayenne pepper and maple syrup. The maple syrup is to prevent your body from going into starvation mode. That tid bit should have been my first warning telling me this is probably just for crackheads and toiletpukers. Here’s the REAL kicker. The cleanse is supposed to be about removing all the toxins from your body, so every morning you have to drink a lot of salt water and every night you drink laxative tea (smooth moves is not so smooth). Sick on so many levels, which I will detail for you momentarily.
My wedding was approaching and L is just a regular skinny maniac so we decide to do this cleanse together. We’re like, “F, if Beyonce can do it we can totally do it”. (Looking back this did not make sense as Beyonce probably rehearsed “My Perogative” like 789 times for her dad in 1989…discipline we did not have).
I wonder how many of you that Beyonce was in a Daddy dictacted group called “Girls Tyme” I knew this. Not proud.
L and I drive to Trader Joe’s and buy like 45 lemons each and the cashier is like “Oh Master Cleanse, huh?” We were like, woah this must be the shit of all shits. Everyone knows about it! We were so excited to be sooo skinny. We told ourselves that we really wanted the “toxins” out of our body but by toxins we fully meant fat cheese ass and just didn’t really verbalize that part.
Let me pause by saying that B is rolling his eyes at this so much that his brain hurts from the rapid eye movement. But he has learned to just let us do our F’d up things until we learn for ourselves.
Day 1: Make our first “lemonade”. They call it lemonade on this cleanse but I really call it piss ass. It’s pretty awful and spicy. But overall totally fine. After the 3rd lemonade, it really sets in that we are not eating, like ever. Night comes and it’s laxative tea time. Tastes like black licorice which to me, is worse than piss ass.
Day 2: Wake up, and laxative tea did its job and I pee out of my butt (I warned you). Now this part was my least favorite of all of the fun parts of this exploration: The salt water mixture. I mix up salt and water and drink and UnGODLY amount. I now have a tight hand over my mouth forcing the swallows. The warning during the cleanse is in bold, red letters and they say:
IF YOU THINK YOU HAVE TO FART, YOU DON’T. GO TO THE BATHROOM.
Warning noted and more regular pee out of the butt. Like within minutes. My body has turned into a Brita water filter. I make my lemonade mixtures and cart my materials off to work. Where they also think I am a complete crackhead. I don’t know why. I should mention that squeezing 12 lemons a day really really hurts your hands. If you think you don’t have a million little cuts on your hand, you would be wrong. And rubbing lemon juice in them 4 times a day will prove it. By the time I drink my laxative tea I am F-ING hungry.
So I really start laughing, hard. Now I should tell you, this isn’t what you think standing in your own poop would be like. Since it was day 3 of the cleanse, it was really just water. Water that came out of your butt. But still water.
I call L immediately.
“L, you will never believe what just happened”
“I just pooped on the floor”
“the fart, it wasn’t a fart! Don’t tell B, don’t tell anyone!”
“OK I won’t. What are you going to do?”
“Destroy the evidence”
**Note that within 22 hours, I told B, all of my friends and my whole office and now all of you.
So at this point, things are taking a turn for the worse. I have lost control of my bodily functions and am considering old people diapers. But I just think of Beyonce and I pull through (**I don’t even really like Beyonce).
Day 4: Drink the salt water. Can’t keep it down. Vomit it up.
I give up. I go immediately to get some fresh OJ (the Master instructions for ER recovery) and chug that shit. It was the best tasting liquid of my entire life. I am not kidding
I tell L and she decides to keep going. Although later she begins to hallucinate hamburgers during a wedding meeting we had to attend and she went about 2 days further and quit that bitch after she almost cut her sister for mentioning cupcakes.
Moral of this story, is that every good story has a poop element, every girl in America wants to be skinny, it’s critical to remember rules, and don’t trust Beyonce, she’s on crack.
PS I found out a month later that my salt to water ratio was actually 1:6 and I was doing 1:3. Vomit explained. Added Moral: always read instructions very carefully.