For more than three months, I totally avoided offering any input into our kitchen remodeling. If I had contributed my ideas we would not have had an appliance garage, where we currently park our 2003 Black & Decker toaster. And I would have requested a dishwasher that made a little noise, so I don’t have to keep asking my wife: “Are you sure it’s on?”
Now it’s time to remodel my bathroom. It is not that Mary Ellen is forbidden to enter it; it’s just that she considers it forbidden territory. Let’s put it this way: we have been married 33 happy years, and then there were the two years we shared a bathroom.
We began by shopping for a toilet. After five minutes, I had already invested more time in that selection process than I had in picking out my new car … or my wife’s engagement ring. Oddly, the toilets were way up high on shelves. When’s the last time you looked up at a toilet. Don’t answer that.
One of the toilets had a sign that said: WILL FLUSH A DOZEN GOLF BALLS
I couldn’t wait to try it.
“Dick, what’s all that racket up there?”
“Mary Ellen, I’ve just flushed a dozen Titleist’s down the toilet.”
“Wow, you must have played terribly today. What happened to cursing and breaking your club in half?”
Some manufacturers include a seat that doesn’t slam down but lowers noiselessly – a good idea for people who are occasionally frustrated by failure on the throne and tend to slam down the lid.
And finally, some of the toilets were labeled “smart.” They have 14 buttons and a remote control, but what they remotely control is still a mystery. I don’t want a smart toilet. I don’t want one that answers the phone, or is connected to Bluetooth, or gives me a weather report. I don’t want my bottom warmed or scented. I simply want my toilet to sit there.
And I promise to do the same