I was raised in the south, in a family of true southern ladies.
My mother was extremely proper and started many of her sentences to me with, “Young ladies of quality do ... or do not do ...”
As much as I have outwardly rebelled against that over the years, I have to admit that deep down it is still ingrained in my psyche.
One area that I know is still controlled by that is the area of bodily functions. I am one of the few people I know who do not find farting funny. I even have trouble writing the word “fart.”
When I was growing up it was more acceptable to have a child out of wedlock than to fart in public; at least if you had a child out of wedlock, people understood and even might know someone else who had suffered that event.
No one knew any female who ever farted in public. It just was not done, except by men.
So is it any wonder that here I am at this stage of life being faced with one of my biggest challenges? I have noticed over the years that whatever you think you can’t handle gets plunked down into your lap at some point. And so it is for me as I wrestle with everything that comes with a new colostomy.
Great. Just what I wanted.
Oh well, I know I can beat this too — it just is not easy!
However, I suspect that, at its core, it is rooted in some sort of false pride issue, which I do not like at all; so that motivates me to keep going.
I just hope once I conquer this hurdle I won’t be tempted to spit in public. That really would not do at all.