And yet, despite my conviction that the ridiculous tissue paper film is useless, I reach for one each time. Why?
Because, what in the name of God will others think of me if I sit on a bare toilet seat?
Usually, I collect one anticipating that there will be one of two outcomes:
- It will rip in half while I attempt to disengage the center piece from the edges.
- If successfully placed on the seat, the center piece will fall into the water followed unceremoniously by the rest of the cover while I fiddle with my array of buttons, latches, control top panty hose and zippers.
The f***ing thing is stuck to my ass as a result of static electricity. This is a recent development and I can only blame it on the fall of stock prices or bad Chinese imports or anything not related to electron migration from my backside. I am loathe to think how that whole thing goes down.
At work, the seat covers have visible particles of wood embedded in them and come in a package labeled, “Rest Assured”. Encircling this provocative statement is, “Clean-Safety-Clean…Safety-Clean-Safety.”
Rest Assured? Assured of what, that my bottom is uber-safe from harmful ick? Did I miss something on Good Morning America about a pandemic caused by toilet seat cover failure? I suggest that we just smear that gelatinized grain alcohol masquerading under the label “Hand Sanitizer” over the seat and be done. My friend Pam points out that there is a good likelihood that the laws of physics will come into play and we will slide off the seat almost instantly. But I haven’t let go of the concept, I mean really, if the whole business down there is disinfected, then why do we need hand sanitizer? Frankly, hand sanitizer is just a 15 second opportunity to get high in the office restroom before returning to work anyway.
Let’s break this down further. Clean? Okay, I see what they’re implying with clean, but safety? Is there a chance I am going to be injured during my toilet experience if I don’ t use a seat cover? I’ve never thought of that! Again, I am trolling the internet to find relevant information about injuries sustained while using the toilet and the safety statistics of toilet seat covers.
Go ahead and Google it, I dare you.
So what the hell do you think of the person in the adjacent stall who deliberately omits the application of the seat cover? Do you assume she’s hovering, in which case she is making a mess for the patron that follows her…if you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie and wipe the seatie.” ...whatever.
Really, unless you have Peyton Manning’s quads, who are you fooling? I can no more hold myself up at a 45 degree squat over a toilet seat than I can do a one-armed push up with Gerard Butler on my back. Those girls that say they hover are lying or they are 25 and weigh 109 pounds or they hover but brace themselves with two hands on the seat which is more disgusting. At least if my butt gets stuff on it, I can pull my panties on and go about my day. If my hands touch the seat, then I’m left to the mercy of some watery soap that squirts out smelling like somebody’s grandmother.
And here’s the confession…
Sometimes, I pull a seat cover out and make rustling noises with it and then I wad it up and throw it in the bowl. I pause a moment to see if anyone figured out what just happened. I thought I was the only one whoever did this until one day when I queried my friends who sheepishly confessed to similar indiscretions. I hugged them fiercely.
So join the rebellion, go commando on your next privy visit. Survey says?
