A Note on Potty Training
No, this is not another post about my struggles with Touchdown, although I could go on and on about that. No, this post concerns a question found here at Indy's blog that has got me all riled up.
The question refers to the fact that when the toilet is found sprinkled with urine and a man is the only man around, why does he deny that it was him that did it. The insinuation is that we, men, are idiots.
Hey, it is true that we are sometimes cursed with the occasional stray ray that may or may not glance off the seat, but I offer here, a story for all the men.
I worked for four years in a luggage shop in Las Vegas. While there I worked with primarily women as we also sold women's handbags (go ahead Wizard and take your shots). Well one day a dastardly dusting of the tinkle juice happened to be spotted on the toilet seat and I was the only dude working there. Rather than pull me aside and confront me privately, the gaggle of gals decided it was appropriate to bring the matter up in a store meeting.
What was I to do? I was caught redhanded with my butt in the proverbial sling. Oh, they laughed it up and threw the jeers my way. "Watch out, here comes K, get out your rain boots." Ha ha. Hilarious. Now, I am not saying that I've never showered the seat with a stray ray, but I was pretty fastidious about clean up and I knew that I was not in the wrong on this one. They had picked a fight with the wrong butt.
For the next several weeks, I watched the toilet like a hawk, but I never found any evidence to clear my name. In fact, I eventually came to believe that maybe it was my tinkle tainting the toitoi.
Until one day, the little back room girl (who had been one of the main lyncher of the mob) came up to me with a contrite spirit and motioned for me to follow her to the facilities. There on the seat was the evidence I had been looking for. Just proudly sitting there. I felt like Johnnie Cochran. If on the toilet you can't sit, you must, luckily for K, acquit, acquit, acquit.
Oh, the glory was mine. I was not a pig after all. Come to find out it was a 70-yr-old Japanese gal who worked with us that couldn't bear to have her precious bummie touch the seat, so she hovered. That's right. A hoverer! Now don't tell me girls that you haven't hovered at some point in your existence. In the mall? Or at the ball park? Maybe the airport?
Let this be a lesson to you all. It is probably us and we are almost surely to blame, but keep an eye out for potential hoverers lurking about. Beware the hoverer!
The question refers to the fact that when the toilet is found sprinkled with urine and a man is the only man around, why does he deny that it was him that did it. The insinuation is that we, men, are idiots.
Hey, it is true that we are sometimes cursed with the occasional stray ray that may or may not glance off the seat, but I offer here, a story for all the men.
I worked for four years in a luggage shop in Las Vegas. While there I worked with primarily women as we also sold women's handbags (go ahead Wizard and take your shots). Well one day a dastardly dusting of the tinkle juice happened to be spotted on the toilet seat and I was the only dude working there. Rather than pull me aside and confront me privately, the gaggle of gals decided it was appropriate to bring the matter up in a store meeting.
What was I to do? I was caught redhanded with my butt in the proverbial sling. Oh, they laughed it up and threw the jeers my way. "Watch out, here comes K, get out your rain boots." Ha ha. Hilarious. Now, I am not saying that I've never showered the seat with a stray ray, but I was pretty fastidious about clean up and I knew that I was not in the wrong on this one. They had picked a fight with the wrong butt.
For the next several weeks, I watched the toilet like a hawk, but I never found any evidence to clear my name. In fact, I eventually came to believe that maybe it was my tinkle tainting the toitoi.
Until one day, the little back room girl (who had been one of the main lyncher of the mob) came up to me with a contrite spirit and motioned for me to follow her to the facilities. There on the seat was the evidence I had been looking for. Just proudly sitting there. I felt like Johnnie Cochran. If on the toilet you can't sit, you must, luckily for K, acquit, acquit, acquit.
Oh, the glory was mine. I was not a pig after all. Come to find out it was a 70-yr-old Japanese gal who worked with us that couldn't bear to have her precious bummie touch the seat, so she hovered. That's right. A hoverer! Now don't tell me girls that you haven't hovered at some point in your existence. In the mall? Or at the ball park? Maybe the airport?
Let this be a lesson to you all. It is probably us and we are almost surely to blame, but keep an eye out for potential hoverers lurking about. Beware the hoverer!
posted by Cool Dad at Tuesday, September 06, 2005
7 Comments:
K, I believe you have given new insight to " Yellow Journalism". I know that you have better creative powers that to blog on such a subject. I object to this type of blog and will protest it every time.
Yes, the Wizard is right on this one. Before I even got to the ending, I had already figured it was a little old lady, only I figured she had lost her bladder control. It's easier to blame the water hose than embaress the little old lady.
Women can be just as messy as men, which never ceases to amaze and disgust me. I mean, hello! Wipe it off, or use one of the paper thingies. I'd tell you what my hubby calls those things, but it's a bit crude. Wouldn't want to offend anyone!:)
I am laughing my bummie off!!!!! LOL!
Workplace bathrooms are just scary, IMO.
As to hovering...we were forced to do so in France, as NONE of the toilets in any public restroom had seats. (this was in Languedoc, not Paris)
Okay I give you credit when it come to the public restroom. Women can be just as piggish, but what about he home potty?
:)
As a former hoverer, I concur... Beware the hoverer! Beware.
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