Lavatorial Lingo: The story of a woman who flipped her lid.

I flipped my lid about the family bathroom last night, and any hope for serious blogging today has gone down the pan, for lack of a better term. So today, dear readers, for your eyes only, here is the low-down on MM’s pet peeve. Get yourself a coffee now – this text started out as a small dose of tongue-in-cheek bog breviloquence, then grew into an extended version of verbal diarrhoea. Such is life when one blogs about bogs.

The evening had started off well. I had gone to bed and read a couple of chapters of an old novel from my student days, complete with the Purple Ronnie bookmark it contained back in 1988. It kind of sets the tone for this post.

My super Bottom Burp poem page marker.

My super Purple Ronnie Bottom Burp poem bookmark. An example of the sweetness and light typical of MM in her student days.

I put down the book, switched off the light and carefully laid my sinus-blocked head on the pillow. My gentle slide through Aunty Biotic’s drug-enhanced world into the arms of Morpheus was rudely interrupted by the audible mutterings of my night-time enemy, the evil “Mr B”. In the multiparous mother’s dictionary, “B” is for “Bladder”. Like the ferocious nocturnal predator known as “handus mannus” (found under the common name “the hand” in the female version of the dictionary), a bladder is, of course, masculine, like other things that bother women when they are dropping off to sleep. I ignored him. He pulled hard on the chain and rang a familiar bell in my brain, making me feel annoyingly like a servile Jeeves in a PG Wodehouse bad-bladder-boss-meets-brain scenario. And off we went for another of our futile little debates, that generally run as follows:

Mr B: “Hey! MM! You awake?”

Me: “No”.

Mr B: “You just answered. Post hoc ergo propter hoc, you are awake. I need to go.”

Me: “Bog off. The legs clocked off five minutes ago, and the brain shut down for the night two hours ago. Over and out.”

Mr B: “That’s tough, because I need to go, and I won’t let you sleep till it’s done”.

Me: “Liar. You went ten minutes ago. Put a plug in it, walnut”.

Mr B: ” Wake up and smell the coffee, honey; your pelvic floor has subsided faster than a home-made soufflé. Does 11kgs of babies mean anything to you? Girl, it’s been Armageddon down here since June 2002. And you’re the one who chose Bagels instead of Kegels after hurricane Rugby-boy blew through, remember? Wanna go.”

I heaved myself out of bed, and fumbled down the corridor in the dark – I never switch the lights on, because it wakes me up again and by the time I start dropping off, Mr B starts gushing forth with his demands again. So I dropped myself sighing on to what I thought was a toilet seat in the dark.. and fell an inch further on to cold china.

English: toilet seat up Deutsch: hochgeklappte...

Brr, yuck, yuck. Bog boot camp. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

There is no need to be Einstein to work out which gender had visited the loo before me. I have already ranted about this bog bugbear and other household task issues in this post. So here’s the deal, guys: a toilet has a seat. This rather charming definition of the word “seat” could help you understand what this strange contraption is used for: “something designed to support a person in a sitting position, as a chair, bench, or pew; a place on or in which one sits”. This dictionary definition got me thinking: I do like the idea of a pew. I quite fancy a whole new take on lavatorial lingo: meet the pee pew. Or what about a buttock bench, stool stall, poop parlour, cheek chair, or flatulence throne? The possibilities are endless.

I digress. Whatever you choose to call it, a seat is for sitting on. It is not much use to anyone if it is folded up at right angles in a vertical position. Particularly in the dark. Boys, if we girls put the sofa upside down every evening just before you appeared with your beer and the tv remote, you’d howl. So put yourselves in our position and imagine jarring your previously warmed, Mr Men pyjama-unwrapped behind on cold china and not the gentle NASA-style docking you had expected with a room-temperature plastic seat. Then realise as your stomach flops over with disgust that the person before you had probably peed from a respectable height whilst inspecting his shoes or contemplating the ceiling. Sorry guys, but here you have proof of the pud: you cannot do several things at once.

Sitting in the dark, I wondered whether James Bond aimed as precisely once he was behind the toilet door. As special force material rippling with virile instinct and the eye of the tiger, do the super heroes of the male urinary universe whistle and stare gormlessly at the ceiling as they point Percy at the porcelain? Or do they delect in the thrills and spills of dropping a ball of toilet paper in the pan and aiming at their unsuspecting victim with sniper precision for toilet time target practice? (Are soldier household toilets easier to clean than their civilian counterparts? Answers on a postcard, please, bloggers.)

Target (1952 film)

Tim’s wife gives the other side of the story in Closer magazine: “He may have been a sharp shooter on the field, but certainly not in the bathroom.” (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

What I can see from my resident brood of men is that a toilet seat is only used when they have longer-lasting duties to attend to (in mother talk, we’d crudely comment that for some dads, it’s the only occasion on which they can claim that they have dropped the kids off at the pool). We always know when you have been there, because the seat is strangely…. down. It is also horribly warm, and the floor is littered with uninteresting reading material such as the DIY shop catalogue or “A guide to snakes”, thus giving away the identity of the person who has – once again – forgotten to walk the toilet brush whilst they were there.

I was mistaken to think that this would all pan out eventually. I have tried to go with the flow, rather than flushing with rage at the idea that you are deliberately yanking my chain. You have brushed off my pleas, guys, even if I do admit that you grudgingly tried to pander to my wishes a few times. But your efforts were sadly no more than flashes in the pan.

So I will no longer keep a lid on my frustration. I have decided on action: a shit, oops, sit-in. Mr B will be delighted to learn that he and I will be occupying the pee pew all day tomorrow in a “pee-ceful” protest against the perils of the open loo seat. I will take my book and my Purple Ronnie page marker with me. And even if the Bog Brigade sniff me out, I won’t be out until tomorrow evening, when I’ve finished my book and got the protest badge of the loo seat imprinted on my buttocks.


36 thoughts on “Lavatorial Lingo: The story of a woman who flipped her lid.

  1. bagels and kegels….. oh yes. I am liking the idea of flipping the sofa over 🙂 Hope you feel better soon. If it’s any consolation I’m on amoxicillin too, with the promise of a blood test in a couple of weeks for further checks.

  2. Oh my, still wiping my eyes (not with loo paper) you had me in hysterics all through your toilet tales… when your rear encounters cold ceramic in the middle of the night it does indeed make your stomach flop both from the chill and the knowledge of what’s been before… been there, makes my blood boil too! Thanks again for the laughs. You really should write a book you know! 😀

    • Glad you enjoyed it. Insert relieved sigh *here* – I was a bit worried I’d gone over the top with the vulgarity factor on this post, and that I’d end up losing regular readers like you… Aha, the book. The book has been grumbling around my head for years, and the first couple of pages were born last week. Affaire à suivre…. 😉

      • Excellent! Cannot wait for the end result! You know that you could probably put a book together with all your posts from here and give it the title of your blog… It would sell I’m telling you! Please tell me your first book is going to be full of your wonderful humour? 😀

        P.S. Hope the bugs are finally moving their camping gear from your sinuses?

      • Glad to have someone waiting for it to be born… It will indeed be MM’s inimitable humour, as it’s my favourite way of writing…. I have a few ideas up in the air, of of which is precisely what you say, but the first effort will be a novel. Or my idea of one. Urhum.
        The bugs are slowly backing down, and I’ll be back in action for Monday. 😀

    • Thank you, H&H. I am relieved; I thought I’d gone overboard on this one, and was chewing my pillow and telling Mr B that I’d lose readers last night… You can guess from the fact that I’m replying that my internet connection stretches as far as the Andrex roll 🙂

  3. My bugbear too! I also like the lid down – yes, a bit anal I know. My men are well trained now. I’m not sure if it was the constant nagging or the threat of me doing a Mrs Bobbitt on them that did the trick. Try a ‘soft close lid’, I wrote about it here;
    The novelty might give you a few weeks respite from a cold bum!
    Hope you are feeling better 🙂

  4. I hate it when Mr B starts niggling in the night too. It usually means falling out of bed on creaky legs, crashing into the computer seat, stubbing a toe, pounding the wall in search of the light switch and possibly trip over the cat who decides at that moment to dash downstairs in the hope I’ll follow him down and watch him eat…

    Hilarious text MM, I was hunting out the loo/water/pee references, and I put my toilet seat lid up to you – there were many! 🙂

    • MM is muchly honoured and touched by all these compliments. *check feet are still on feet on ground* Mr B and I often chat together, but unfortunately he’s not very big on negotiation. Your computer chair is the sidekick of my chest of drawers, and our cats both appear to be part of Mr B’s sordid plan to keep us up all night 🙂

  5. Hilarious and sad all at the same time! While I do understand the nagging call of Mr B as my pelvic floor also bottomed out many years ago, I can say that I haven’t had the misfortune of falling into the bowl! You poor thing! What a nasty shock! You should definitely turn the sofa over!!!
    Thanks for a great read — and for following me! 😉

    • Luckily for me, my investment in my behind (careful recent stocking up on Jaffa cakes) cushioned the blow; could it qualify as an air bag? 🙂 Moral of the story: cake is a girl’s best friend.
      Your blog is a real eye-opener for me, and I’ll be perusing it in greater depth tomorrow. Even if I feel inadequate now that I’ve seen your TNT birthday cake 😉 (Mother’s day here, so logically speaking the kids will be cleaning the loo whilst PF feeds me grapes and I read blogs. Well, that’s the theory….)

  6. I have to tell you this was the most entertaining reading I have had in MONTHS!!!!! On all levels.
    You are wonderfully talented and if already not a writer should consider a new career path
    ( different subject matter of course)

    I was recently diagnosed with severe degeneration in my C/5 and C/6 vertebrae in my neck .

    The ONLY time the %$#@&*^^%$#$ pain becomes unmanageable is when I visit Mr. B.
    In the last 3 weeks I have managed to orchestrate an unbelievable position that defies gravity and spine compression but has now allowed daily pain free existence .

    Sisterhood baby? ☁

  7. I was about to say that took me back to when the kids were at home, until I remembered that DH has been known to commit the same sin much more recently. As I too go to the loo almost in my sleep at night, the rude awakening caused by not noticing that the seat is up is part of my experience too. Marvellous comic writing and I too will be in the queue for that first book. 🙂

  8. You could practice the “congaï’s” way (Vietnamese women working in the rice paddies) : by expertly introducing two fingers in their intimate anatomy, they manage to pee standing up and as far as their male fellow workers..
    It could save you from the coldness of the john’s porcelain, the “éclaboussures” (I love this word) and help you get rid of a sort of an inferiority complex over your “machos” family members….

    • 😀 Another corker of a comment, Papounet! Sounds like a drastic measure, particularly without hand-washing facilities…..I will check where my rice has come from when I buy my next packets. I don’t know if you deliberately used the word “members”, but it didn’t half make me chuckle!

  9. Ha ha, this was so funny! Love the ‘bagels over kegels’ comment!!

    The comment from Papounet above was very informative (and who knows when it could come in handy??) Staying on this subject, yesterday I read an article which lifted the lid on Chinese potty training and really got to the bottom of things… Toddlers wear special pants that are split open in the crotch area. The same pants are available for both boys and girls. In China you see little naked baby bums everywhere you look!

    • Glad you enjoyed it 🙂 Papaounet is a treasure trove of useful tips, keep an eye out for his contributions! I’m not sure I’d try it out, I’d probably get arrested, or drenched, or both 🙂 I saw a little gadget called the “Shewee”, thought up by the beautifully named Samantha Fountain! Google it – it looks like a less hazardous procedure than Papounet’s version.
      Those poor babies must grow up with complexes about their bums being too fat to fit in their trousers. Can you imagine European people walking their kids around like that? We’d all be arrested for child abuse 🙂

  10. Beware of the perfumed Thaï rice !
    No, I regret : the word “members” was not intentional. Dommage…

  11. Just the title of this had me laughing out loud!
    I love you MM, you infallibly cheer me up even when describing your own misery!!!

    I actually managed to cure my husband of the Bog Seat Defect, by setting a law cast in stone that the bog lid must be closed at all times, an thus of course the seat down, unless someone is actively crapping into it.
    I printed an article like this
    and about five more, and stuck them up all around the loo.
    It explains how flushing with the seat up sprays potentially lethal colon bacteria into the air and on your toothbrush. Leaving the loo upen without even flushing lets germs get out, somethow, too.
    Just to aid his memoery, I took to leaving his toothbrush really near the bog.
    Give it a try! It could change your life!

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