***We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming to bring you this very important rant about the toilet seat***
Yes, T is for toilet humour. Or rather toilet humour failure.
There is this post doing the rounds of facebook at the moment entitled The Man Rules. It is written by a man/men and is, I imagine, some kind of a response to the better known, and equally ridiculous, The Rules as written by a woman. The latter being some old cobblers about never picking up a phone to call a man and making him wait until hell freezes over, or your vagina closes up (whichever comes first), for sex in order to get him to put a ring on it. Like that is all that we have going on in our pretty little heads anyway, right girls?
The former bunch of cobblers, The Man Rules, includes such gems as:
- If you think you are fat you probably are so don’t ask us – Why, don’t you understand a simple question?
- Crying is blackmail – Er, no it isn’t. And what have you done this time anyway?
- Don’t ask us what we are thinking about unless you want to discuss football or motorsports – Really? Really? Do you really want us to believe that you are that vacuous? That would be like assuming that all we care about is shoes, handbags and scarves.
Anyway, putting such haute brow accessories aside for one moment, I would just like to take particular issue with the following:
“Learn to work the toilet seat. You’re a big girl. If it’s up, put it down. We need it up. You need it down. You don’t hear us complaining about you leaving it down”
Franchement, where to begin… OK
- Firstly, we already know how the bastard thing works. We are intimately acquainted with the workings of the bastard toilet seat. We clean the bastard. Seriously, I love Mr B, but in the whole time that I have known him I don’t think that he has cleaned the toilet once*. In a previous life an old boyfriend announced to friends over Sunday lunch one day that we had a self-cleaning toilet. Yes, like an oven. After recovering myself (choking on my Yorkshire pudding) with a sharpening slurp on my Bloody Mary, I corrected him on this. It was of course I who had been cleaning the toilet. I was in fact the toilet fairy. He laughed because he had honestly never seen me doing it.The same boyfriend also insisted on leaving the toilet seat up.
- Back to my rebuttal. Don’t call me a big girl. I didn’t ask you if I looked fat did I? Seriously, when has a woman ever asked a man this question? No, she saves that f*cking minefield of a question for her friends.
- It is only up because you left it up. The fact is that you need it up AND down. I just need it down. So the only reason that I need to touch it is to clean it and then I have my Marigolds on. And of course you don’t complain if I leave it down. The chances are that you will need it down yourself. And even if you don’t, can you really not just do this one little thing, which is to leave the loo as you found it, without complaining?
Oh, and while we are on the subject, can I tell you what I want, what I really, really want? I want you to put the seat AND THE LID down. But I don’t go on about it. Poco a poco. Baby steps, eh?
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*Facts have been checked. And this has been allowed by the man himself. While he will of course use the loo brush to remove immediate offending articles, long term care, with chemicals and Marigolds, are not his province.
