No no-poo, please!

I decided to try this thing people are doing now… I call it “not washing my hair”, but according to the websites it’s actually called “no-poo” or “co-poo”. I tried it for a few days, and it worked fine.  My hair didn’t feel dirty or oily, and it was actually kind of nice, but today I just felt like shampooing my hair, so I did. But that’s not why I’m not going to continue this. I’m not going to continue this because they call it “no-poo” or “co-poo”. I just can’t.

Do a quick search on “no-poo” and you’ll find plenty of people talking about it, as if it’s normal… as if it doesn’t sound like they need to see a doctor immediately.  Some of them put it between quotation marks, and I respect them a little bit more. I can imagine them cringing as they type it, and that makes me feel a little better. But I still hate it. “Co-poo” is no better.

It makes me uncomfortable in the same way that I feel uncomfortable when a little kid I barely know tells me he needs to have his “bm”.

“Is Mommy a nurse? mmm-hmm. Okay, well, would you do me a little favor and from now on just quietly say you need to poo-poo, or doodie, or whatever the other kids are calling it? Because now that you’ve announced that you need to have a bm all the other kids want one too, so I’m going to have to explain to them what a bm is. And then when your mothers get back from church I’m going to have to explain to all of them why one of you is crying and the rest of you are laughing. And, I know you don’t understand this now because you’re only 3, but your name begins with the letter B, so if you don’t stop this before the other kids learn the alphabet you’re on a fast train to BM-Bradsville. Okay, c’mon, Bradley… let’s go potty”.

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8 thoughts on “No no-poo, please!

  1. lmao. I do understand. One day when I was little we were visiting at friends of my parents and went to the upstairs to go “potty” Everyone came into the bathroom after me and didn’t leave. I couldn’t sit on the toilet forever so I eventually wiped myself and got off. This one woman came over, peered in the toilet and exclaimed, ” What a nice BM you did!” I was absolutely, completely mortified. I might have been about six, and she proclaimed to world that I did a “nice” BM. It took me years to get over the traumatization. I am now 60 years old. Last year I told this story to my mother who howledin laughter so hard she nearly fell off her chair. My mortification was now complete. (still laughing)

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  2. Thank you for so neatly encapsulating the feeling I get when I read about “no-poo.” (Once I understood people weren’t actually celebrating the experience of “I no longer put literal crap in my hair!” Because I had a rather different reaction at first, when it seemed like that’s what was being said.)

    Although, a confession. *hangs head* We always said bm at my house. Gramma was the nurse.

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