Ah, that time of year when our HMO sends out the colorectal exam kits.

Just one of the perks (?) of being over 51 is that our HMO wants us to send them a little scoop of poop every year.

I know the test is important. I appreciate that they try to make this more convenient (and less invasive) by sending the kit to you, so you can scoop the poop in the privacy of your own home. But – ewww.

Like most women, I am not poop shy. It has long been woman’s duty to clean diapers, wash skid marky undies, and clean up the messes of pets and other loved ones. This is one of the reasons most women can face the realities of the human body and its various secretions and excretions with getting all squeamish.

Women know – shit happens.

However, once the poop is scooped, and labeled, and wrapped and bagged and put in the mailer, I now have to place my poop out for mail pick up.

I hate that.

I can handle my own poop, but I have a problem making someone else handle it as well. Yes, I know that it’s in a little bottle, and all wrapped up and bagged and will be secure until it is “decanted” at the HMO lab, but still. You know the mail carrier knows what this is.

Nobody who went to work for the post office thought they were signing up for poop delivery duty.

So all I can say is so sorry Mr. Postman (we happen to have a male mail carrier).

We all know:

Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.

Now they can add poop to that list.