Five days and three toilet seats on the same bowl. That has to be a record, right? Saturday I finally got rid of the old toilet seat, which had split down the middle and provided a resting place for each cheek. It took about four hours for me to get the old one off, partly because the previous owners were dumbnuts who obviously hadn't heard of using WD-40 in the bathroom, and partly because I had to keep going out and buying various MAN-TOOLS (no pun intended) to get the durn thing off.
One hand-saw, monkey wrench, B&D pliers, can of WD-40, three cloths, four broken nails, a screwdriver and a litany of rude words later, I lifted the lid on the old white telephone and put the new one on.
Except it was not really new - I'd had it sitting around for a few months and consequently the silver do-dad thingy was missing from one side. I cleaned the entire flat looking for the silver do-dad thingy, to no avail. As a result, three days later, the new one broke with a vengeance as I not-too-gently lowered my tired ass onto it as I stumbled, blear-eyed, out of bed at the unhallowed hour of 5:30am.
As you can imagine, I was not too happy about this state of affairs. Toilets are supposed to uphold pillars of society such as myself. Seats are supposed to stay down when they need to be down. Seats should not callously give way beneath you when you are mid-stream. There should also always be a continuous stock of toilet paper ready for every emergency. I understand that this is a female's perspective: for men, toilet seats are supposed to be up, for no other reason than that the older men get, the less able they are to pee straight and therefore need that extra 0.5 cm circumference gained by lifting - and leaving - the seat up. Men do not always need toilet paper, I was once informed by an old flame. We'll call him Simon, for that was his name. Upon exiting a public loo when out one evening and finding me waiting patiently for him with a bucket of popcorn, he gallantly took the bucket in one hand, and my hand in the other. I had a suspicious thought.
"Simon, did you wash your hand before holding mine?"
"No, but it's okay, I didn't use that one. I'm holding the popcorn with the hand I used."
Who said the course of true love ne'er did run smooth? (That was rhetorical, by the way). Anyway, he was right. It runs in a dribbling, wavy yellow line.
That evening I was late home from work and, to my surprise, saw a Woolworth's open next to the bus stop. I had a crisp craving so went in. While in there, I noticed it had a significant homeware section. As I had only three days before guests descended on me, expecting a fully functional toilet, I thought - "Can it hurt to look?" So I ventured between aisles of Chav-Plastic bathroom accessories, sporty dolphins frolicking on tasteful white loo brush holders.
And then I saw it: A Chrome Effect Wood Toilet Seat. Stifling my questions as to whether it should have been "wooden" instead of "wood", I was thrilled. My bathroom is white and the palest ice-blue, with touches of silver-painted wooden mirrors, handles etc. It was the perfect toilet seat for me. Happily, I picked it up, grabbed a bag of Doritos which were precariously balanced on top, and made my way to the till.
While in the queue, my mobile rang from the deep recesses of my handbag. Tilting my arm slightly to reach it, the seat in its box slipped, and I instinctively clasped it to my chest. As I did, the doritos fell off. I bent down to pick them up. Before I had the chance - HE picked them up for me. Ladies, his eyes! Youngish, well-built, salt and pepper hair, chiselled features, and beautiful, soul-searching brown eyes. I melted instantly. "Remember to be vulnerable" I thought, as GB had informed me in an earlier post that men like their women to be less violent and more gentle and vulnerable. I smiled and let him pick up the packet.
"Thank you" I smiled and whispered.
He smiled back. "You have your hands full", he said, and glanced down at my prospective purchase.
Namely, my chrome-effect wood toilet seat, clutched lovingly to my heart.
His smile disintegrated slowly and was replaced with a quizzical look.
"My toilet seat broke this morning when I sat on it and I have to fix a new one on tonight" I gibbered.
"Oh".
And that was the end of what could have been a beautiful romance. You can't blame him really. No-one clutches chrome effect wood toilet seats like that. Single, vulnerable girls do not buy or fix their own toilet seats. Well-bred, vulnerable girls certainly do not get their toilet seats from Woolworths at 8:30pm on a Wednesday evening. No, it is no use. Alan Rickman will just have to accept me for who I am, staples, chrome effect wood toilet seats and all. At least we will never run out of toilet paper.
