Geez, one day in and I was already falling behind, I thought. This presented an ethical dilemma. Should I try to do double duty tomorrow and pass one off as today's? Or is the science so good they'd be able to detect what I'd done and I'd be put on a black (brown?) list, forever barred from donating fecal matter? I decided to admit the truth, and explain in the comments section what happened.
The next day though, the real thing happened! With no problems at all! I went in, pooped, wiped, bottled the sample, just like that. Swelling with excitement at the excrement I'd expelled, I skipped out of the loo with my poo and bagged it in the freezer.
So began my pleasant poutine. I'd text Oliver when I was feelin' the bowels a-stirrin', and he'd let me know if he was around to let me in. By the fifth day, I was pooping like a veteran, and couldn't believe my time in the slimelight was already almost over. But apparently my pooping prowess had begun to get to my head, for I thoughtlessly ate two bananas that day. When I went over to Oliver, my stomach was feeling calm as a cucumber. Nerves began to creep in. Would I, once again, be left a sitzpinkler? (That’s German for a man who takes a seat to tinkle.) No! It wasn't much -- in fact, only enough to barely fill the mini-spoon -- but it did come out eventually.