A Hate Letter to a Cleanse

Carrie Groves
Written by Carrie Groves

Over the years, I have tried many different diets, and exercise regimes… whatever I thought might make me thin or healthy (or both). One of the most memorable was the time I tried a 10-day cleanse–not only because I couldn’t have a glass of wine for 10 days, but because it resulted in mind-blowing embarrassment.

To give you a little context, a cleanse requires eating clean, or not eating anything you can’t pronounce, taking a variety of supplements that expel the toxins in your body, and probiotics to restore what has been flushed out.

It’s as awesome as it sounds.

Day 1 started with a fruity fiber drink. It was citrus-flavored, so it should have been as delicious as morning orange juice, right? Nope. It was a sludgy, gritty mélange that I had a hard time choking down. It got stuck at the back of my throat, dribbling slowly into my esophagus, and I could taste every intestine-scraping piece of fiber. 

The sad liquids continued with a green smoothie, packed with kale, spinach and tons of bananas to make it taste less like crap. Somehow, I managed to tough through it all because it was only day 1 and I couldn’t give up.

I really wanted to. I wanted to quit and eat my body weight in fondue. Mmmm… cheese.

Days 2 and 3 were similar, and I have to admit, the dietary restrictions were starting to get to me. I stared longingly at my husband’s wine and found myself kissing him at length after he took a few sips. I salivated over simple carbohydrates, sniffing loaves of bread trying to get a contact gluten high. 

Rolling into day 4, I found some of the cravings starting to subside, but a new host of concerns started… bubbling up. Literally.

It happened at work. I felt a subtle flutter in my stomach, like a baby’s first tentative kicks. The flutter turned into a rolling boil, but I was determined to ignore it. 

Sadly, things started to move southward, and try as I might, I could not reverse its progress. That would have been like asking Niagara Falls to run back to its source. 

Soon, my poop senses started to tingle. That’s a fancy way to say that I was about to blow.

But, where was I going to go? Every bathroom is communal, and I knew this was not going to be a simple dump and run. I mean, the whole point of the cleanse is to eradicate the toxins plaguing your body, and, FYI, toxins don’t smell like roses. 

There was only one bathroom that might be a possibility. It was in a seldom traveled hallway, and I had used it in the past for peeing. Not pooping. Never pooping. 

Thankfully, the hallway was deserted and bathroom empty. As quickly as I could wrestle my pants off my body, I threw myself onto the toilet and all hell broke loose.

I felt so much better and began to relax. Then I cursed the clean, sprouted bread I had been eating for breakfast. I could see those stupid grains that had been scrubbing my colon cleaner than a whistle floating around in the bowl. 

Note to self: burn that bag of bread and write a scathing review about the pooptastic qualities of it on the web.

Then, I heard it. The door was opening, and a horde of women were walking in. There was a training session in a nearby conference room and it had let out for a bathroom break. Of course, it had to be my bathroom. I wanted to hide there until they left, but there were only two stalls and I was occupying one of them. It would have taken a half hour for them to use the toilet and go.

My world moved in slow motion. OH. MY. GOD. WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?

My cheeks began to burn and I became hyperaware of the smell in the bathroom. The women were unnaturally quiet, probably as shocked as I was.

Boldly, I decided to leave the stall. With my head held high, I made my way to the sink and joked about it being “one of those days.” 

No. That’s a lie. 

I kept my head down, ran to the sink, washed my hands as fast I could, and left without drying them. I like to believe I was a blonde blur, and they were all left thinking, “who was that?”

Humiliation washed over me as I stepped into the hallway. When I didn’t think it could get any worse, I heard it. The laughter. The women were giggling and twittering about me. Or, more exactly, the horrendous stink I had left behind.

The whole experience was even more embarrassing than having a myriad of strangers examine my girl parts after giving birth the first time. Frankly, I would rather have the examination of my vagina live streamed on YouTube than go through that again.

Nothing about the cleanse is worth that result. I could lose 10 pounds, gain mountains of energy from clean living and start to burp rainbows, but because I had one moment where I pooped a sulfurous storm, I wouldn’t do it again. I’ll just learn to accept my toxins and kill them naturally. With alcohol.

Is everyone with me?

About the author

Carrie Groves

Carrie Groves

Carrie is stumbling through life trying to raise two kids, three dogs, and a hamster. By day, she’s a cubicle jockey, and by night she morphs into her alter ego, a hilarious mom blogger who enjoys wine, writing, and song. In addition to writing for BLUNTmoms, Carrie has been a contributor for Mamapedia, Mamalode, and the anthologies Only Trollops Shave Above the Knee and Surviving Mental Illness Through Humor.

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