Photo credit: HERE Piqsels
Cutting straight to it, there is nothing that makes my skin recoil more than sitting on a wet toilet seat, at work! Or anywhere for that matter. Oh man, just gross. And exactly what happened to me this past week. Ideally not something to share, but there you go, it’s been shared.
Having wiped and gagged and vacated the cubicle, I was immediately taken back to being probably no more than a toddler or just older. Out with my Nan shopping or something, desperate for the loo – on that note, as this seems to be all about sharing, my bladder has always been about the size of a postage stamp with the loo being a close friend. So, out with my Nan, me needing a wee-stop, into the public loo we went and having surveyed the facilities and deeming them OK to use, Nan instructed me to not sit down, but rather hover over the seat.
Really! How on earth does one hover over the toilet? Levitate? Throw my legs up and have Nan hold me under the armpits while hoping of all hope the toilet is under me? However it was or happened, I don’t recall wet feet or hem of dress so one can only assume it was a successful visit.
Actually, the more I think about stupidy and the loo, I can also remember trying to hover over the loo, only as a much older person – likely a teenager. At least at that stage, there was no need for somebody to hold me under the arms to navigate position. No, on those occasions – because as established I could never wait until reaching home – the routine was to hoick up clothing and attempt a balancing act that required pretty darn good core strength while keeping skin from the seat.
I think that’s enough about the loo for today, and indeed forever