A couple of my friends have recently come up to me to announce major health issues which have been followed with a statement like “well, I was concerned about telling you because I thought it was too much information”. So, I’m writing this for them.

Too Much Information(TMI) – according to Beth

What constitutes TMI? Let’s start with your bowels. I appreciate that the digestive system is a miraculous and wonderous thing – that without it, we wouldn’t be here to discuss TMI or really anything else. And while I don’t mind hearing about “product in”, I don’t much care for “product out” – what shape it made, how often this little miracle happened for you, what caused it – if it has the perfect DQ swirl, feel free to marvel at it, applaud it, take a picture of it for your own records, but don’t share it with me.

Recently, I hurt a person’s feelings. She was carrying on about the big bucket of popcorn she had at the movies and how all that roughage was just working it’s way through. Then gleefully added, “I’ll be running by you back and forth all day trying to make it to the potty.” I’m pretty sure my face lost all color. Mid-way through the day she dropped by to explain that everything was going beautifully with her bowels and she was pretty sure the popcorn had cleared her system. I threw up my hands and started shouting, “TOO MUCH INFORMATION! YOU ARE REALLY SHARING TOO MUCH!” … and I hurt her feelings – seriously. Too bad, because I am not your go-to girl for poo.

Your sex life. For starters, you don’t play a major role in any of my sexual fantasies, but I appreciate that you’re trying to give me the visual. I don’t care how raunchy, over-the-top, frequent, or how heralded you happen to be, you’ve just given me the willies because I don’t think of you that way. In fact, I prefer to think you’ve only gone so far as holding hands and that your anatomy is something Mattel pieced together. Unless you’re Brad Pitt, you fall into the same category as Ron Jeremy or Flavor Flave or Sandra Bernhardt – because you just made me lose complete interest in sex with your talk – in some cases you made me lose control of my bowels; your story was that upsetting. WAY TO GO! Now those of you that see this as a challenge and are moments from e-mailing me what a bedtime casanova you are, feel free – since you feel like sharing, I’ll post it on the blog with your full name attached – hey, if you can share it with me, you can share it with the world. And the world wants to celebrate your escapades.

Under the umbrella of your sex life is your pubic hair. Yes, I applaud your ability to shave in your name, your favorite team, Winnie the Pooh – you’re a little barbershop prodigy. This is also TMI unless we’re both falling down drunk, then the TMI lines get blurred a bit. But if I’m dead sober sitting at my desk or lounging on my couch, I don’t want the visual of your curlies bouncing around like Tigger.

When “naked” isn’t TMI – when you’ve bounded into the living room of your apartment fresh from a shower wearing what God gave you only to discover there are construction workers right outside the window who just locked eyes with you. And after the aforementioned locking of the eyes, you fled for cover (and clothes), and now have to walk the gauntlet by passing them on the way to your car. THAT’S just good times! (that’s not TMI)

So, I’ll say one more time to my surgery having friends – if your brain is exploding, if they’re replacing major organs, if they amputate your pinky toes – this is not TMI – this is how you score presents and flowers and cards and balloons. I don’t care if you wet the gurney, spewed on the attendant or had to have a catheter – that won’t fall under the TMI umbrella. Now if Barry White showed up while you were seducing your doctor, that’s TMI. It’s a fine line.