With the toilet paper hoarding of late going down, I thought it might be fun to personify 12 foods that help to co-create euphoric bowel motions and meet them from an astrological perspective.
Some foods are common whilst some are quirky, because if you can’t name drop a few innovative ingredients in an article about astrology where can you?
At the very least, it should inspire you to amend your anal evacuations, saving you the irrational fear of toilet paper insecurity. A good poo is one that barely needs a wipe down after voiding.
You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful. You’re glorious, you’re you. The perfect place, for a vulva face and a happy smiling poo. Who wouldn’t want to read you through?
To celebrate, I’ve written her a love song.
Thanks for the inspiration, James Blunt.
If you want to celebrate with me, feel free to make her (and my) day and adopt of a copy (or two, or three) of her glorious pages.
Everyone who purchases a copy (or several) of my papery offspring, will score a complementary 30-minute personalised nutrition Q&A with me. All your burning questions answered.
If you already own the book, buy a copy for a loved one and keep the consult for yourself. That’s still a consult for the price of a book.
And now, for a little ditty to make y’all giggle, because we all need a little extra humour at the moment.
You’re Glorious, You’re You!
Hey book, you’re brilliant
Your message pure
You are an angel
I so adore
Your smile and your display
Your loyal fans
Your unassuming humour
Your cheeky plans
You’re beautiful, You’re beautiful
You’re glorious, You’re you
The perfect place
For a vulva face
And a happy, smiling poo
Who wouldn’t want to read you through?
If my over-use of embedded links failed to entice you, below are a few visually pleasing links, one of which has stars on it.
Faced with a gut myth and don’t know where to turn? Who you gonna call? Gut busters!
Last week I invited Ginger on to set us straight about her spicy merits and today, we are lucky enough to be joined by Connor Colon from Gut Busters (a.k.a your colon – the distal end of your digestive tract). Connor is going to bust 3 common myths about gut health so we can all rest easy and save our pennies in the process.
In my glorious book Periods, Poo & A Glorious You I spelt your name wrong on several occasions. I do get it right on page 34 but the other pages say Kumut. To make matters more awkward, I instruct people to pronounce your name Koo-moot instead of Ka-moot.
I’m talking about the lessons my book baby – who just happens to sport a gloriously happy va-J-J on her front cover (hence the hoo-ha aspect to this posts cheeky title) – can teach us. The lessons extending beyond the delicious information in her eclectic chapters. Holy Guaca-foodgasm-mole! Not yet a week old and my papery darling is already wiser than most.
Sharing a candid moment on the sand. My wise girl loves her sunshine.
Lesson #1: Kiddlets have minds of their own.
Indeed. As I mentioned in my last post, my papery offspring decided that she wanted to create a game that you could play as you devoured her glorious pages. She’s called it Where’s Whoopsies? It’s like Where’s Wolly? – minus the stripes. I combed through her meticulously. My editors and publishers and designers did too. Even her Grandmumsy (my snazzy Mamma T) came to the party in the final editing stages. We toiled to iron out even the most minor of kinks. Yet my sweet girl decided to play hide and seek with a few minor corrections. You (the reader) have two options;
Find these ‘whoopsies’ (cheeky errors) and ‘win’ the game
Let your incredible brains correct the errors before you consciously notice them
This brings is to lesson # 2
Lesson #2: Our bodies truly are astonishing
Okay, so I’ll admit that my heart sank when I initially noticed my baby’s grammar whoopsies. Then she looked at me with her endearing, happy eyes and said “but Mamma, look how clever your brain is. It corrected the words in your mind’s eye”. She’s right. As much as our snazzy ‘override’ mechanism makes the editing process a challenge, our in-built autocorrection is something to behold.
Lesson #3: Life wasn’t meant to be airbrushed
My girl is an old soul. Despite being born in the age of insta-filters and photoshop, she champions old school realness. The days where we took photos and hoped for the best because we couldn’t edit or delete. Recycling unwanted snaps post-development was as ‘airbrushed’ as it got. Before autocorrect most things were written by hand on the fly and mishaps were an inevitable part of the process. We’ve come to expect perfection and thus chase elusive ideals. My book baby is pretty darn special. Pretty darn close to perfect. Yet she comes with a small handful of oversights as if to say “I’m keeping it real”. Bless her rectangular papery pages.
Lesson #4: Let it Go.
I’m not going to tell you what the errors are or where they’re located. In all honestly I hope that your glorious brains override these insignificant boo-boos. That said, if you do win the game of Where’s Whoopsies I trust that it won’t mean any more to you than it does to me when I find typos in my favourite books. Never does a minor error take away from the good value and overall message. I trust that the compassion I have for my favourite authors will come back to me with my glorious audience. That or they’ll miss them altogether. Either way, I’m letting all recently discovered (and yet to be noticed – if there’s still a few silly buggers lurking) slide and instead focus on the beauty of what I set out to and have achieved. Health, Happiness and Humour for myself and the world.
Health. Happiness. And Humour. Yes. Yes. And Yes.
This wise little girl can’t wait to befriend you. Adopt her below.
Isn’t she a beauty. I know, I know. She has my cervix.
I was reluctant to become a book Mamma. To spread my legs and let the literary gods impregnate me with the drive to create a unique and non-cliched publication.
Thankfully I felt the fear and got pregnant (with paper) anyway.
My baby knows what she likes and told me what she needed to be. She refused to be free of typos. No matter how many times I lovingly combed her pages, she’d sneakily play hide and seek with minor corrections. “Mamma” she whispered to me last night before I put her down “now our glorious audience have a game to play when they read – where’s whoopsies?”. Isn’t she a delight? She is challenging my deep-seated perfectionist tendencies and I love her for it.
She insisted on being playful, lively, honest, candid, and, well;
G-L-O-R-I-O-U-S.
Hence her title.
Despite her front cover sporting a delightful Va-J-J, she is a uni-sex read for all ages and stages. If you have a body and sense of humour she was made for you. Periods was such an ace pairing for Poo that we rolled with it. Again, we emphasise as a mother-daughter duo; SHE IS NOT ALL ABOUT PERIODS. Lads gather ’round. What she’s on about is health … but not in a way that you are likely familiar.
She is a collection of my personal anecdotes (mostly surrounding my path from borderline-dead to robust health), orgasmic recipes (start salivating now), jokes and cheek (so much cheek) and health information imparted through cartoons, analogies and a whole lot of heart-felt humour. My baby is ready to play.
She loves;
Making others laugh – for a long, long time. And then when they think back to what they were laughing about, they start laughing all over again. She’s already doing this.
Sharing recipes that are simple, taste orgasmically delicious and ‘just happen to be’ stupendously nourishing
Airing my dirty laundry and poking fun at me wherever she can. I thought this didn’t start happening until the teenage years. Sighs.
Dropping cheeky F-bombs where no other phrase will do. The apple of me eye, I’m telling you.
She refuses to;
Tell you what to do
Make your mind up for you
Preach
Lure people into bandwagon carriages. She’d rather dance alongside you whilst YOU beat the drum that she’s gently supported you in building.
She’s already a social media tart.
Check her out below – she cannot wait to meet you.
