Woody Cavenaugh

Why can't men learn how to lower the toilet seat when they are finished?
Why can't women learn how to lower the toilet seat before they begin?

These and other burning questions explored here in today's blog.

If my marriage should ever end in divorce, it won't be about a cheating spouse. It won't be about money. It won't be about who wears the pants. It won't be about boredom. If our marriage should end it will be over a toilet seat. Yes, a toilet seat.

Sara complains why can't I lower the stinking toilet seat when I am finished using it? Ok fine. We'll leave the seat down all the time and she will be happy. In theory this is good, but we can't forget that there was a really good reason why I was raising it in the first place. Sara realized this the first time that I made a concious effort not to raise the seat first. "We really shook the pillers of marriage, didn't we Wang."*

The argument is as simple as it is silly. Sara wants me to raise the seat every time I use it. Then when I am finished she expects me to lower it again. Umm, no. I see how this works. That would make me responsible for any and all errors. She would have no responsibility at all. In fact the only thing she would have is a reason to be pissed off if I ever forgot a step, or got the steps backwards. This ain't happening.

My solution on the other hand is logical, reasonable, and shares responsibility equally. My plan goes like this. Every time I take a tinkle it is my duty to make sure the seat is up. That's all I have to do. All she has to do is to make sure the seat is down before she sits. You'd think that would be a natural habbit anyway. Sorta like when you are hiking and you come across a bridge, you make sure that you are lined up on the center of it before you cross. Whoops! I just fell into a river because I forgot to line myself up with the bridge. Silly me, I stepped right off into the water. Maybe, if you're two this would happen. You can't be married and that happen. If you are that retarded its illegal to get married in the first place. Look it up.

So the toilet has become the center of some sort of pissing contest. Actually, I was going to say Cold War, but pissing contest is much more accurate, yet still manages to capture my wise ass essence. Pissing contest it is.

Scraps happen rarely, but they do happen. It seems to occure every time she forgets to check seat position before she sits. For the sake of clearity, and the fact that she knows where I sleep, I am going to go ahead and take the high ground on this and admit that this happens extreamly rarely. But it does happen. And when it does happen she raises a mighty stink about it. She blows up about why I won't do it all, and I gust back about why she won't just accept half of the responsibility. Its a stalemate. A septic situation that one day might tank our marriage. I can't imagine just flushing the whole thing down the drain over something like this. It really stinks.

But perhaps I am blowing this whole thing out of the water. Perhaps these little erruptions are born out of the strain of having forgotten to go put the seat down before you go. I guess I should be a man and float her some relief by dropping this whole thing and not try to sink her with it. I am willing to whipe this all asside, and move on. I'd be pretty crappy excuse for a husband if I continued to cling on to the dark spots of our otherwise fresh and clean marriage.

I'm all finished now. I think I gotta go poo.

*My appologies to John Carpender's "Big Trouble In Little China". I couldn't help myself.