Sunday, January 15, 2012


This morning, I had the pleasure of taking mes bébés to The Cheesecake Factory for brunch.  We met up with some awesome friends, the girls got some awesome Christmas presents, and we had an awesome meal.  Sadly, due to Schikabibble's (the current in vogue name for Baby #3) placement directly on top of my bladder, and having a companion who is three and a half years old, there were a couple of not so awesome trips to the loo.  And each and every time, I, or we, were faced with the automatic flushing toilet. 

Now, in principle, the automatic flushing toilet is brilliant.  It cleans up for people who are too dirty, lazy, or germaphobic to actually push the flusher themselves.  In reality, well, in reality, it is never that nice.  For some damn reason, the automatic flushing toilet will never flush, not even once, for the person before me.  When it is my turn, however, the thing will flush a half a dozen times.  Now, let me be clear, I am not a twitchy person, I don't have Tourette's, and I'm not wiggling around when I'm in the stall.  Nonetheless, that toilet flushes like I'm marching a band in there with me.  Inevitably it flushes once I've lined the seat with paper before I've even managed to sit down.  Then once I re-line, it flushes again.  A flush or two while I am going and then another when I stand up.  Each flush, of course, mists my rear end.  So basically I am using a public bidet.  Which, quite frankly, is probably one of the grossest things out there, if there exists such a thing.  A quick google search reveals that though there a lot of complaints about public flushing toilets, there is no technique which prevents such misting mishaps.  I suspect that most people do not feel a need to, proverbially, build a better mousetrap, which is why I am converting, flip flopping, switching alliances.  No longer will I be a line it, sitter.  Nope, from this day forward I shall always be a squatter. 

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