Are you constantly seeking the answer to that long, antiquated, yet still formidable question? I know fellas, “It’s hard out here for a Pimp” but amidst all the in’s and out’s of a relationship there still lies that yearning to know. Why are we as males, required by some 11th Commandment to fulfill the duties of securing the toilet seat in the downward position? I might be tugging at some deep seeded personal issues (thanks Dad), but I feel we need to nip this issue in the bud. After years and years of just obliging to the notion that it was my “Male duty” (after doing my duty), to put the seat back down and flush, whilst making sure there weren’t any microscopic droplets of excess fluids, it hit me. Why am I required in a society that has been constantly progressing towards an equal opportunistic world, still bound by an unforeseen premeditated agreement, that after I splash and shake, I must also shimmy the seat back down? The frustration that resonates in my mind with this issue of the smallest significance, boggles my mind even more, thus leading to a never ending spiral of chaos and turmoil that (like this entry) is repetitive and keeps me asking why. I can deal with real problems of the everyday life, but this little task has always rang trivial to me in the bells of relationships.
I can appreciate that it must be difficult to come home after a long day of work and sitting in traffic, only to have it feel like your male companion installed a bidet as you plunge down into the yellowy deep. The only solace is knowing that you’re at home and not in a public place, treading in foreign waters like it’s the Cold War. Even though we both know that once you gather yourself out of that porcelain abyss, World War III is about to begin, once you find the infidel who decided to unknowingly attack you from the rear. As you’re pummeling him with banter and fists, try to keep in mind that him snickering, is just our way of relating to the situation; believe it or not, we’ve all been there doing the “hurry scurry” to the bathroom. A number of times I’ve believed that I had the upper had on my bladder and we were going to make it home, only to find myself again on the side of the road doing a “tire check” while warming my ankle up on a cold winter’s night. The frustration is there for both parties when the seat is not where it should be in relation to the sex of the party occupying the bathroom. I’m not saying that I will stop abiding by this false rule of engagement, but I feel that the duty falls (he said duty again) within both parties of any relationship. Therefore next time ladies should you find yourself submerged in a murky depth of injustice, please consider the alternative to a fit of rage and ex-lax in his morning protein shake, by taking some long deep breaths, inhaling some wine, and blasting Alanis Morissette whilst taking a much needed bath to clean up.