A few notes on wiping your ass

It is commonly known that travelers, when thrown together overseas for extended periods of time, will eventually start to obsess on the idiosyncrasies of their bowels (Tim Cahill has commented on this at length). And, in places where toilet paper seldom exists (such as Asia), there is much debate about just how sanitary it is to “wipe” (so to speak) with water.

Water-wiping enthusiasts (and many die-hard vagabonders are) insist that their method is superior, arguing that if you had shit on your face, you would use water to wash it off instead of paper. Thus, they reason, water-wiping makes for a cleaner bum. Whenever I speak to high school audiences, I enjoy the reaction when I make this very logical point.

Until recently, however, I thought that the varying mechanics of ass-wiping was only a consideration among hard-core world travelers. I was proved wrong this week when I read the June issue of Esquire, and found the following article by Men in Black director Barry Sonnenfeld, which I think speaks for itself:

“Five years ago, Sweetie (the wife) introduced me to Tucks hemorrhoid pads. She changed my life. Growing up, I watched the unfortunate commercial: a close-up of a flaming match being put out by a Tucks medicated pad, whatever that was. It made me sad. It made me feel unclean. And you know what? I was.

“You know how when you’re done with a plate of ribs or a fine three-pound lobster, you’re desperately looking forward to wiping your hands with a moist towelette? Well, Tucks are moist towelettes for your ass. Take an entire roll of toilet paper. Keep wiping until the paper is as clean as when it came off the roll. Not a speck of fecal matter? Okay. Now take a single Tucks, place it across your three middle fingers, and wipe. The amount of sadness on the pad will make you faint.

“The marketing problem for Tucks all these years is that they’re sold as a hemorrhoidal aid instead of a profound mood enhancer. Tucks are like a romp through a field of daisies for your butt. Every year, I give Will Smith a case of Tucks for his birthday, since he’s uncomfortable going down to his local Costco and picking up a pallet of them. Tucks changed Will Smith’s life.

“Tucks not only come in containers of 100 pads, which I keep in every bathroom in my house, they also come individually wrapped as “Tucks Take Alongs,” which I carry in my wallet. They are like an instant portable bidet.

“And they can be used as a bribe. Although I was originally invited to the annual Vanity Fair Oscar party because of my fine work as a director, what gets me invited back is that I never fail to find editor Graydon Carter and discreetly place a Tucks in his hand. Tucks changed my life. Maybe they changed his life. They can change your life, too.”