Upon moving into our new place, Aly and I discovered that the toilet seat, which had always been up during walkthroughs, had fish embroidered into the top of the lid. This struck us as strange, as the lid and seat look fairly new while the guy who previously lived in this unit did so alone — no kids, no ichthyologist girlfriend, no halfwit brother who might see the design and clap his chubby hands saying “Fishies! Fishies!” Aly and I presume that the cleaning crew, after doing what they could with this toilet, closed the lid, like polite people do, finally allowing us new tenants to gaze upon the seat that should not be. However, the unwelcomed fish design, looking like something a six-year-old might have created with a handful of stickers and too little parental supervision, was the least of our objections, as we would soon learn.
Upon returning the lid to the up position so as to hide the stupid-looking fish, I found that the toilet seat itself was cushioned, by which I mean that component itself was not made of either porcelain or hard plastic but instead foam rubber. (I guess, then, the toilet seat itself is a cushion.) Short of a body embedded in the wall, this is one of the nastiest surprises I could imagine in a new house. The mere thought of a toilet seat with a squishy texture repulses me. Spongy textures have no place near wherever human waste is being expelled.
And although we’ve since removed the horrible thing, I can’t help thinking of a second reason to hate it: Specifically, who would be inclined to buy a cushioned toilet seat aside from somebody who spends such an inordinately long amount of time on the pot that the pressure of standard, firm seat against the rear end had apparently caused discomfort? Personally, I do what I have to do and then continue with my day, but whoever purchased Squishy Fishy clearly suffered from a digestive disorder, possibly from a parasite obtained while abroad or from some sort of voodoo curse. (I’m speculating here, but I’ll bet I’m not far off.) And now I have to wonder exactly how communicable that disease might be, for despite thee new, firm seat in place of the previous one, I am still using the same toilet, for the most part.
If you’re reading this now and I now you socially and you happen to have a seat like this one, please make every effort not to tell me.
In closing, enjoy two more pictures of the house, each fairly unrelated to this post’s topic. First, the pathetic contents of our fridge on the first night in the new place:
And, second, what Adam found in the backyard, buried in dead bamboo:
There is much to notice in this new place.