My husband successfully split a toilet seat in half this week. I know that most comedians would then lead into a joke about weight but my husband was the kid in school picked on for his rail thin physique, and it hasn’t changed much 30 years later. The jokes around here were in the vein of “force”, “bowel strength” and “grippage”.
My hubby utilized the reality like all Canuck husbands would: he turned it into a shopping spree at Canadian Tire.
This weekend was the grand unveiling of the new seat cover. Its instillation was quite covert or I would have arranged more fan fair: balloons, music, press photographer. Anything to continue the endless teasing and create great toilet comedy for my children. Instead, I had to stumble upon it during chore time.
Holy. Moses. It. Is. A. Gadget. It swivels so you clean underneath at all angles. It slightly contours to gently circle the buttocks. It closes slowly on its own to prevent massive slams thoroughly enjoyed by all children under the age of 4.
And I hate it.
I sit and it shifts. I feel like I’m constantly about to slide in. I have to wait patiently while it closes cause I fear the open seated flush (this for another time). I lose precious seconds waiting for the conclusion to my pooping.
And during those wasted seconds, all I can think to myself is, “Aren’t some things in our society already perfect?” “Do they need further improvements and tinkering?” I would argue that a toilet seat is just fine. I apologize for any toilet seat designers reading this: I’m sure you work hard and long on your quest for perfection. But I suppose I would counter that the industry has cracked the code. Nothing better can be achieved. I give you all the rounds of applause and best wishes during retirement.
If you ever wondered can a toilet seat be returned, the answer is “No”. So I must live with my fancy gadget and count the seconds wasting away as I wait to finish, flush and move on.