I’ve been fascinated with bathrooms
since I was child. As a five year old, I’d convince Ross, my four-year-old
brother, it’d be fun to swing from our Aunt Audrey’s and Uncle Ron’s bathroom
towel racks like monkeys, even though doing this pulled the racks out of the
walls by their screws. On another occasion, I told Ross to help me gather
apricots from Aunt Audrey’s and Uncle Ron’s backyard to fill their toilet with
the apricots and watch them go down, which they didn’t.
On family road trips, I caused delays
at the gas station bathrooms. On one occasion, my family waited in the
Winnebago for me to come out of the gas station bathroom, however, I was
engaged in conversation with another 10-year-old girl. My frustrated mother
marched into the bathroom and even though my hands were still covered with
powdered soap, she yanked me out by my shirt collar while I waved good-bye to
my newfound friend.
As I grew into adulthood, I always made
sure my bathrooms were clean while proudly displaying beautiful towels in blues
and greens. At 35, I became engaged and joined my fiancé on one of his business
trips abroad. He’d been traveling abroad since he was a young child to visit
relatives and therefore, was accustomed to every custom, however, I’d only traveled
from one end of California to the other. My sense of being an
ignorant American was about to be replaced with a fresh outlook on life.
We landed in Paris , France and headed for our hotel. I was
delirious with exhaustion to the point of nausea and thought only about the
comfort of a soft pillow. Even though I could barely see straight, I spied the
bathroom door and instinctively made a beeline to see what Europe ’s facility offered. I walked in and
noticed an odd-shaped toilet. It had different handles, was lower to the floor
and there was no toilet seat cover. I figured it must be their version of a
men’s urinal, however, I was perplexed as to why a men’s public toilet was in
this luxury hotel. To make matters more mind-boggling, there was a hand towel draped
over the side of this men’s urinal with soap balanced on the towel!
I walked over to the urinal and peered
into the bowl, noticing there was no water in it. Yes, there was water in it. All of a sudden, I heard a knock on
the bathroom door and my fiancé asking, “Are you okay? You’ve been in there
quite a while.” I bolted upright and said, “Um, there’s a weird toilet in here.
Come take a look.” I opened the door so he could see the oddity of my
discovery.
He walked in and while I pointed to the
funny-shaped urinal, he paused in silence. With furrowed eyebrows, my
naturally-quiet and extremely proper fiancé thoughtfully gazed into my
anxiously-awaiting, perplexed, blue eyes. With obvious discomfort, he found the
words to say, “That’s a bidet.” I asked, “Is it for men?” He said, "It's
for both men and women. It's a cleaning device." I asked, “Is there
supposed to be a lid and toilet seat?” He shook his head from left to right. I
said, “I don’t understand then, what this thing is or why it’s here.” He
explained its purpose in as few words as possible and then, said he needed to
head to his business meeting.
I couldn’t wait for him to leave so I
could begin the investigation and experimentation, free from interruption or
distraction. I noticed a variety of soaps from which to choose. “Oh”, I thought,
“lavender would be nice, however, there’s also rose, honeysuckle or jasmine.” I
decided to try them all. I straddled the bidet this way and then that. I made
the temperature this and that while enjoying this new-found bathroom gadget.
After 30 minutes of flushing the ignorant American aspect of myself and feeling
fresh as a daisy, I was rejuvenated. Instead of conking out, I decided to walk
along the Champs-Élysées and become one with the French.
It’s been 20 years since the experience
with my best bidet friend. I’ve researched on-line to see how to have one of my
own. I told Aunt Audrey my desire and she said to absolutely have a Toto bidet.
I haven’t figured out how I’d get my current facility out of my bathroom to
have the Toto one installed therefore, I’ve attempted make-shift bidets all
these years. Water goes everywhere and it’s not the same as having the real
deal. Too, sometimes I apply self-tanning lotion onto my legs to camouflage my
jiggling thighs therefore, I can’t get water splashed on them. In these
middle-aged years since my pheromones dried up, I put extra effort into my
beauty regime making sure I feel as youthful as possible. In the wise words of Katy
Cochrane, a trusted and knowing friend, “Tanned fat is better than
white fat any day of the year.”
At the tender
age of 56, I continue learning all life offers, however, one thing’s for sure:
I want a bidet and I want one today.
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