We don’t like to talk about it much, but the inescapable fact is we are biological creatures, and like all biological creatures we leak and ooze and excrete. Every single one of us! Even the prettiest of us discharge on a regular basis. (Although I have to admit that I know this based on empirical evidence and not through direct experience because I’ve never been called pretty in my life. Oh don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t mind being called pretty, but the reality is, that’s just not going to happen. . .)
Unfortunately our squeamishness about the realities of being biological, combined with our apparently natural instinct (Otherwise it wouldn’t be so common would it?) to trash our environment with castoffs, means that many of us are more inclined to walk away from the evidence of our biologicality than we are to bag it up and dispose of it properly.
And the above has become an increasingly common sight along trails and riverbanks and campsites and - well - just about everywhere else a human can go. In fact, in more heavily visited 'wilderness' areas it's getting to where these little white flags are scattered around like some crazed surveyor has run amuck.
Call them what you will, disposable (Well hell! When you get down to it everything is disposable.) or flushable, (Again; socks, teddy-bears, plastic solders restraining orders and a whole long list of other things are ‘flushable’, but that doesn’t mean they should be flushed!) the sight of these flapping banners is becoming an everyday thing anymore, despite the high level of disrespect and ignorance required of those participating in this disgraceful practice.
And frankly ladies, even though I know you don't care, I’m not happy about it!!
Now don’t get me wrong, men are pigs too. We have as least as much inclination to leave behind a trail of cigarette butts, candy wrappers, beer cans, water bottles, and the other detritus of an over-indulgent lifestyle as women do. If our hands are a little dirty we just give them a quick swipe on the seat of our pants. When done eating beans out of the can around the campfire we fart, jam the spoon into the sand a few times, and call it clean. And we pee on bushes, on the ground, on walls, on tires, and even on our shoes, (Hey, I just said men are pigs too!) but when we're done we just shake and stuff; (Yep, still pigs.) we don’t pat.
Now I’ve got nothing against patting, but just what the hell is going through your mind when you leave your patting materials behind to wave brave and proud in the breeze for all that follow to suffer???
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