In which I complain about toilet seat covers

My beloved wife of many years (I’m too lazy to count), has recently installed a toilet seat cover on the toilet in our bedroom. Well, the toilet in the bathroom adjacent to our bedroom. While it would certainly be more efficient just to have a crapper next to the bed, it would be a little off-putting to wake up to see the love of your life “dropping off the kids at the pool” as it were. So it’s housed conveniently in the small bathroom NEXT to our bedroom. Sorry for any confusion.

Anyway, Sarah has attached this large, furry, white cover onto our toilet seat cover, which means that the toilet seat itself cannot be raised to its proper vertical position, suitable for man usage. Instead, if raised, it tips over and comes down with a clatter, rendering itself essentially a penile guillotine. Or, it would be if I were much, much shorter, and liked the feel of cold porcelain on my junk.

So the seat remains down. And despite over three decades of daily practice, I’m still not a crack shot with this thing. My aim can be a little wild at first. Therefore, the seat gets a dowsing because we need to make the outer cover look fancy when the toilet is not in use. And do I complain.

No. Why? Because I don’t want to look like I don’t know how to operate a toilet seat. And, frankly, I’m not the one sitting in my used Diet Coke.

You are so welcome for being exposed to a part of my life that you never thought that you wanted to hear about.