Marriage Tip #764

You Can’t Win the Battle for the Toilet Seat

Just put it down already.

It was the screaming that woke me.

Picture this (I’m definitely channeling Sophia). It’s the middle of the night and you’re snuggled down beneath a blanket and a comforter. Outside is somewhere in the high 30’s and the heat is set to 65.

And you hear someone screaming as if the house is on fire.

So, eyes wide open because now you’re completely awake. You can’t see a thing. But the screaming… it’s not stopping.

Then you hear your name. Mitch, you left the #@&$*ng toilet seat up. AHHHHHHHHHHHHRGH!

With some shame, you remember. After your bath, you had to take that last pit stop didn’t you? Switched off the bathroom light, and….went right to bed.

And now the missus sat right down onto the cold (hopefully not wet) porcelain bowl. (She normally doesn’t turn the light on because she tries to keep the sleep in her eyes).

At worst that deserved a cuss. Let’s get real, a whole bunch of cusses. I’d hate to sit down on a wet cold toilet.

But judging from the screaming, something else must have happened. Could she have slipped sideways? Ceramic can be slippery. I held my breath and listened as if my life depended on it.

What would you do?

I confess, I had a few thoughts about the Good Lord as I contemplated my mortality in the moment. I believed that if I prayed a whole lot now, I might not have to wait too long in purgatory.

Surely there must be significant afterlife penalties for leaving the toilet seat up.

The screaming quietened. Now I could hear the shower going through the bathroom door. That’s a really really bad sign.

The screaming has become yelling, interrupted by grim muttering and the sounds of stamping in water.

Somehow, I don’t think the missus is happy to be taking a shower at 3.00 a.m. There’s likely no sleep left in her eyes.

I wondered for a brief moment, where I put my passport. Borneo might be good this time of the year. Or some remote Caribbean Island without cell service.

Meekly. Yes Meekly, I opened the door to the bathroom. Only now it’s too quiet. The water from the shower seemed to hiss in reproach. Behind it, silence hung in the air like a weight. I found myself stammering. “D..d..darling, are you okay?”

I brace myself. 20 Minutes later, she’s still yelling. All I could do was apologize. There was no adequate defense my dear friends. None at all. The only way out was to make wild promises I could not keep.

Foot massages for five years. Automatic toilet seats. Make dinner for at least two presidencies. It can get serious dear friends. Save yourself the trauma.

For all my male colleagues reading this. Just put the toilet seat down. It’s the least you can do to keep your marriage intact.

Stop the waffling. No half hearted arrangements of you’ll put the seat down if she puts it back up. This is not a battle you can win.

Nothing will save you when she inevitably sits on bare porcelain. Worse if it’s wet. Trust me. You’ll be lucky if you stay together. If you’re really lucky you get to keep breathing. You don’t have to repeat my mistakes.

In the meantime, Walk good. Mitch.