The Great Toilet Seat Problem

You know, I hear a lot of women often complaining about the great toilet seat conundrum.  I have been lucky in my life. Never really having had to share a bathroom with my brothers, I never experienced the moment so many women refer to with disgust and shock of falling into the toilet after a man hadn’t put the toilet seat down behind him.

When I got married, I thought I was sure to experience this fateful moment.  In fact, I braced myself those first few months, but by the grace of the Good Lord, I unknowingly married a man who puts the toilet seat down. Every time.  I don’t know when he picked up this habit or whether I should be grateful for a roommate or past girlfriend or kiss my mother-in-law or if he just managed to pick it up on his own, but either way, this amazing miracle just made up one more reason I decided my husband is basically, well, perfect.

In all the time that we dated and the time we have been married, he has never, EVER, not ONCE left the toilet seat up.  Guess what ladies? I got lazy.  I quit looking behind me when I went to sit.  I thought I had it made.

Until Sunday morning.

I don’t see well. I wear corrective lenses about 18 hours a day and have glasses for when I am at home. I am just a few points shy of legally blind. I can’t even squint into clear vision.  In my own home, I walk to and from the bathroom without glasses in the wee hours of the night or first thing in the morning. I have always felt safe doing this.  I don’t trip over things on the floor because we keep the place well kept. I don’t worry about surprises.

So, imagine my surprise when I stumbled into the bathroom in the early hours of Sunday morning, no glasses, didn’t turn the light on, and went to sit on the toilet only to experience immense panic when I realized that I was sinking lower than I thought I should, the sudden heart racing when the toilet seat didn’t rise up to meet my naked rear end, the instant panic when I realized what was happening and my small hiney slid right past the edge of the toilet bowl. My heart thudded out of my chest in the moment I thought maybe certain death was imminent accompanied with a rapid heart beat and sudden sweat beading along my forehead as I strained my legs to hold me up so I would not touch bare ass to toilet water.  My abs hurt from the effort. I gasped. I shouted my husband’s name. I strained my thigh muscles and stood up, dropping the seat with a resounding BANG.

While washing my hands my husband finally made it back and asked what all the commotion was about.

“YOU LEFT THE TOILET SEAT UP ASSHOLE!”

I don’t honestly know why I was so upset, but I was piping mad.  I think part of it was that I have lived 27 years 2 months and 11 days without having fallen into the toilet bowl.  He just looked at me and laughed. I am talking hysterical, loud belly laughs.  As he turned to walk out of the room he said:

“Ah man, I love you so much. I guess I got up in the middle of the night to pee. I guess once every few years isn’t too bad of a record.”

Well, I guess, in the scheme of things...it really isn’t.  But Still.