When Jon Pardi told the Whiskey Riff Raff podcast, “Only real men shit with the door open!” I felt that.
He was joking, of course. He and the guys were riffing on the worst possible places to drop a deuce. And at the top of the list was the grungy dive bar we’ve all been to where the door locks don’t work and where you hope and pray you don’t end up after a hearty, Taco Bell dinner.
No one, not even the biggest, toughest dude, wants to shit with the door open.
Funny… I just did that at my house this morning.
If you’re a parent, you know what I’m talking about. Maybe, like me, your kids are young enough that you have to keep an eye on them at all times, even when nature calls. The door stays open so you can crane your neck into the door jamb every five seconds to make sure your kids aren’t eating paint chips, and so you can dart back inside for fear you made eye contact through the window with the Amazon delivery guy.
Or maybe your kids are a little older, and you DID close the door. But they opened it mid-dump, when you’re most vulnerable, to ask for more goldfish crackers for the 15th time. Or maybe you’re so tired you just don’t care anymore.
I’ll admit, though, shitting with the door open at home is far more comfortable than at a grimy dive bar. If you’re going to make eye contact with someone while on the toilet, I’d prefer it be my significant other (sorry, babe), or even the anonymous Amazon delivery guy, rather than some dude who I’ll be brushing shoulders with at the bar in five minutes trying to order my next drink.
If someone’s going to walk in on me, I’d much rather it be my kid (whose butt I wipe), rather than some stumbling, drunk Bubba who takes two steps too many into the stall before realizing I’m there to push him away with my free hand.
These were the potential, horrifying scenarios that Pardi tried to avoid by living 20 minutes outside of Nashville. In his words:
“If I have to take a dump, I can still go home.”
After listening to the interview, one of my takeaways is that there are few mainstream country stars more down-to-earth and relatable than Jon Pardi.
I feel you, Jon. I want to take my dumps in peace, too. But I just can’t anymore, not even in the comfort of my own home. Kids will do that to you.
So, if you and your lovely wife, Summer, decide to have kids one day, you might be better off staying in Nashville for that mid-morning #2.
Either that, or I recommend you start practicing those open door shits at your favorite dive bar. It’s the grossest, most surprisingly valuable parenting training you can get.
Or is it just me?
