I knew a girl who wouldn’t poo in the house if her boyfriend was there.
I work in a well known arts organisation. One month a new lass started, who was by common consent the epitome of female perfection, tall, dark and effortlessly, ridiculously pretty.
Not long after, the eligible bachelors in the office fell out over a rather pungent smell that seemed to emanate from the office lavs and there were worries that said office hotty might be offended by the sheer offensiveness of the stench in question, so bad it was. A witch hunt for the perp was duly convened.
Meanwhile, the stenches grew in intensity, to the point that you’d detect them from two floors away. Someone had very poorly, angry bowels, we were amazed that the lav tiles remained in situ, rather than melting off the walls, so the search for the log-monster because more urgent. All the chaps denied knowledge, right up until the said hotty exited the bathroom followed by a pungent green fog.