We have so much love for each other that we even go poo together. We have a big porcelein two-seater that accomodates our lower G.I. functions as if they were one. We grunt together, strain the veins in our foreheads, even laugh at magazines till that thing gets squeezed out. Releived, we stand, trousers around the ankles and wipe each other's shame away. She tickles me as I grab a camera to take a picture of our poo for the scrap book.