My toilet seat

I have a problem.

Well more than one, really. But this one centers around a seat and a lid. It’s attached to my toilet.

I have a clear, lucite toilet seat, in which are suspended dozens of tiny, rubber duckies. It is cute as hell. It was made for kids. It slides off to one side when I sit on the toilet, tossing me off to one side or the other. Often in mid-pee or mid-noneofyourbusiness.

Today my rubber ducky toilet seat pulled its usual shenanigans, causing me to lurch forward attractively and bang head first into the wall. When righting myself, the seat came up ever so slightly and when I sat back down, pinched a chunk of my meaty thigh between it and the toilet.

Being that it was 6 am and saturday, and The Boy was sleeping, I had to make a quick decision. Do a cuss loudly, or do I flap my arms quietly? Arm flapping ensued, and I gracelessly whacked my elbow on the handle of the shower door. A loud, barking “FUCK!” escaped me as I attempted to jump off of the toilet and be done with the whole experience. Except, remember how I mentioned that it’s made for kids? Well, my ass is not kid-sized. A suction previously patented by Hoover, took hold and the seat stuck to my butt.

Stuck. To. My. Butt.

Then the seat fell. A loud BAM BAM (not to be confused with with my ass, which is bah-BAM!) rang out musically in the early morning grayness as the seat fell back against toilet. I looked down as the little duckies smiled back at me. Mocking. Fuckers.

None of this would happen if I just left the seat on the toilet that came with the toilet. But I can’t do that. Because, I have another problem. I simply cannot have toilet seats in my house that have had strangers asses on them. I just can’t. So, the very first thing I do when we move into a new apartment is buy new toilet seats. I don’t even care if we are the first people to inhabit the place, because there is the possibility that some hairy construction dude (or chick, I am equal opportunity, people!) with scabies of the ass has placed his or her butt on my toilet seat.

Unacceptable.

This is in direct and stark contrast to the complete wreck my house is. I seriously lose track of housework. It makes zero sense why I have this deep, abiding fear of some giant, invisible assbug burrowing up my bung from my toilet seat. Nevermind that my carpets are foul and I almost tripped over a mountain of clothes that I need to launder.

Because of my neurotic fear, I spent this morning looking like a red assed baboon. Those duckies are in for it.

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