The Toilet Seat

The Toilet Seat ©

By

Michael Casey

A Toilet Seat is a thing of beauty, it is also a thing that can provoke almost Nuclear War. Some people people may even worship them, and flushing a toilet is their religious practice as they scatter rose petals down the bog. I would say if people want to do that then so long as there is no coercion let them be, in the lavatory. All faiths should be left alone to be what they want to be, so long as they don’t drive the rest of us around the Ubend.

But all of that is an aside, but don’t mock me if I worship my toilet, I have cKd so you too could end up like me. Where was I, sprinkling  and blessing my bathroom floor with my yellow holy water. Now there’s nothing wrong with that, so long as you wipe your bathroom mat, before the mushrooms start to grow.

Now once you share your home, your pad, with girl things change. They have too. She fills your bathroom with loads of lotions and potions and your pad is filled with her pads. And now you have to observe toilet etiquette, the seat and the lid must come down, and the toilet must be flushed every time, otherwise its a big big crime.

Attila the Hun would be classed as meek and mild compared to your girl if the toilet seat is not down and the lid closed too. And no sprinkles left all over the floor either. But you are a lad and you forget, and her revenge may lead you needing to see a vet. So beware or you could get a kick down there.

But all is forgiven and you catch her unawares, and so now she is pregnant, and you have to massage her back, but you love her. Even if you have to pee in the bath or even sink because she is the queen always on the throne. And then the months pass and her waters burst all over your favourite Wonder Woman bathroom toilet mat. Wonder Woman is drenched, and it is far far worse than hair gel. Then you have no time, you have to deliver your baby on the bathroom floor, with only a bedraggled Wonder Woman there to help you.

Its a girl. You are so happy you cry, your girl thinks you are just a drip, as you place the newborn baby girl in her arms before finally dialing for the ambulance. So your new life as a dad begins, scraping pooh down the toilet before bagging the soiled nappies so they can go as far away as possible from you, thanks to the bin men. And on it goes.

Then just when your daughter is potty trained, your now wife decides she wants passion, so she is pregnant again, and it’s all your fault. You could have improvised with cling film, but now you will be a dad of two in several months time. And yes is a second daughter, so your chances  of getting into the bathroom are now less and less.

Your wife insists you can use a potty so buys you a bucket to use when she and your daughters invade your bathroom. This goes on for years and years. Little wonder you become a toilet worshiper, its such a relief when you can relieve yourself in the bathroom, down your own blessed toilet.    

But the worm turns and sprinkles everywhere, there is screaming and shouting, but dad just smiles and holds up something pink, pink paper not toilet paper. Dad has won the lottery and bought a mansion with 3 bathrooms and a spare toilet. Perfect, just as his old mother said, many mansions in Heaven. Though this one was in the posh part of Birmingham.

Then dad wakes up, he’d been sleep walking and sprinkled down his pyjama trouser’s leg. He leaked, not won the lottery at all. But at least he bathroom toilet paper was pink. 

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