Forget about controversial office smoke breaks. This is the real break that’s dividing the nation and frustrating mothers globally – and we need to talk about it.
Every day around the world, men are momentarily shirking their parenting responsibilities and hiding away in the restroom to enjoy luxurious 20-minute poop breaks. You heard correctly: poop breaks.
You see, moms just poop, whereas dads have a poop break. Can you spot the difference? When I use the restroom, I have to treat it like a challenge. I race in and out in record time. My husband, meanwhile, takes his time, puts his feet up, and zones out of the havoc on the other side of the door.
My son morphs into a heat-seeking missile the minute I enter the toilet zone. So I become the ‘Pied Pooper,’ madly trying to find things to throw out the door, creating a toilet roll trail to lead my crawling child away from me.
I am sick of my husband getting to hit the ‘time out’ button on a Sunday morning, when the lounge room is helter-skelter with Cheerio remnants and the contents of the Tupperware drawer. Off he goes with his phone in his hand to the serenity of a closed door environment for his 20 minutes of solitude. I’m almost certain he’s watched a whole series of Game of Thrones in there without me.
People often wonder why we call it a restroom. Surely, it would make more sense to call it a toiletroom. Even the very best historians in the world can’t pinpoint the exact origin of restroom. But I’m willing to bet a million dollars that the person who coined the term was a dad.
Yes, I believe my husband actually does his business at some point in there, but unless his bowels operate in ultra-super-exceptionally-slow-motion, there’s a whole lot of me-time happening in our ensuite, and I want a piece of the pie.
A company in Japan recently gave all of their non-smoking staff members an extra six days annual leave to compensate for the break time their smoking colleagues get. Dads, I’d like to propose the same. If you continue to take these extended poop breaks, I’ll be cashing in my equivalent parenting time every year.
So husband, be warned: Every empty toilet roll tossed out the door will give you an extra 30 seconds poop time. I’ll Skype you from Hawaii.