I'm not clearing them up

Whilst on this subject, I may have mentioned before that I do not enjoy following people into the bathroom. Specifically I don't like being reminded that anyone uses it apart from myself. The whole event is an unpleasant one in fact, if I wouldn't end up with my own wasted seeping from my pores and coating my skin like over-applied foundation, or sorse simply bursting like a blocked sewage pipe, I'd have glued myself up years ago. Yesterday I was pleased to be reminded that I'm not alone in this.

"I hate going into the toilet when someone's dropped their guts" declared a colleague at work.
"Hear, hear" I concurred, inwardly congratulating myself on our banter.

His words stuck in my mind. Not because of  wondering who/what he would like to follow into the toilet, but because his expression was simply so vivid and colourful (although that colour was mainly brown). It makes you think that you're following someone of immense clumsiness, because after all of all the areas of your anatomy, your guts are surely one of the most secure. It takes great skill to drop them. I would have thought that you are more likely to have one of your hands fall into the sink whilst you're washing them, it tumbling awkwardly around the plughole, than you are to drop your guts all over the place. I could understand your brain falling out of your mouth since that's an orrifice that spends most of its time hanging open like a cave with a single wingless bat hanging from the ceiling. I suppose if that happened your body would soon follow it to the floor and the inconvenience wouldn't be the grim mess, more the minor annoyance of an individual having to stand astride your blankly staring face in order to have a wee. But to drop your guts? Clumsiness in the extreme. Rude too. Just because you don't want them doesn't mean that you can leave your spare parts laying around on the offchance that Burke and Hare happen to be passing.

Another alternative is that it is an exhibition of selfishness, the person cheerfully unburdening themselves of a gutful of guts without considering the effects their presence will have upon the next bathroom inhabitant. Away they swan to live their now slightly less gutful life whilst an unfortunate someone slides across the floor, one foot on a colon that's echoing raspberries around the tiny room, the other making an ill-judged step onto some intestines, squeezing semi-digested pap from them like a rusty tube of toothpaste before skidding to the wall and coming to an undignified halt sprawled over the sanitary bin.

So I suppose this is a plea to the rest of the world: keep your guts. Love them. Cherish them. Maybe even use them. Just please, for all of our sakes, don't drop them. If you do tire of them at least have the decency to have them eaten by zombies and add some entertainment to the proceedings.