![]() ![]() Though laxative teas do help you drop a few immediate pounds, the actual “detox” aspects are murky at best all you’re losing from your small intestine is undigested water and oil - the dreaded “water weight.” The rest of your toxins have been long absorbed before they even reach the small intestine. The most common laxative teas contain copious amounts of senna root, which works along the same general principles of toothpaste management: The sennosides irritate your colon just enough to get it contracting again to squeeze the, er, backlog out. While the Kardashians and lesser reality stars have made detox teas like Fit Tee and Bootea the celebrity shill du jour, herbal laxative teas have been kicking around the wellness aisles for far longer, intended primarily for clogged pipes rather than meaningful weight loss. Too young to die, too proud to take Metamucil, I instead turned to the earthbound gaia’s designated cure-all: laxative teas. Having only ever referred to constipation as a punch line, I first devoted lucrative amounts of time trying to convince my gynecologist I had stomach cancer. ![]() ![]() But somewhere around the time Chipotle started offering a burrito-rewards program, my body began retaliating. But of all my oft-used, under-thought clichés, one I never expected to directly confront was “shitting the bed.” Or, in this case, “shitting the leather seat of an airplane in the middle of first class.”įor the first 28 years of my life, I was able to excavate my bowels like clockwork. Dumpster fires have become such a common refrain, I fear a nation of amateur firemen wouldn’t know what to do if their cubicle trashcan lit aflame drinking the Kool-Aid, when you think about it, doesn’t sound half bad. The problem with clichés isn’t just that they’re lazy, it’s that we tend to forget the original meaning. ![]()
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