For more than three months, I totally avoided offering any input into our kitchen remodeling process. If I had contributed my ideas, we would not have had an appliance garage (where we park our 2003 Black & Decker toaster); and I would have requested a dishwasher that made at least a little noise, so I don’t have to keep asking my wife: “Are you sure you turned it on?”
Oh, and I wouldn’t have put knobs on those false drawer fronts. I’ve pulled six of them off already.
But now it is time to remodel my bathroom. Yes, it is my bathroom. It is not that Mary Ellen is forbidden to enter it; it’s just that she considers it forbidden territory. Let’s put it this way: We have been married 33 happy years, and then there were the two years we shared a bathroom.
Our adventure began at the local hardware store, where finding some assistance is tough.
“I don’t know about plumbing, I’m in power tools.”
“I’m sorry, I have to stay in aisle 23.”
“Oh, looking for a toilet? Way in the back. Careful, the door won’t lock.”
I had never shopped for a toilet before, and I wasn’t exactly sure what I was looking for. After spending a little more than four minutes walking up and down the aisle, I had already invested more time in that selection process than I had in picking out my new car … or my wife’s engagement ring, for that matter.
These were four minutes wasted that I could have used staring into the refrigerator, hoping that something new to eat would magically appear.
One confusing thing was the toilets were way up high on shelves. When’s the last time you looked up at a toilet? Don’t answer that.
One of the toilets had a sign that said: WILL FLUSH A DOZEN GOLF BALLS
I couldn’t wait to try it.
“Dick, what’s all that racket up there?”
“Mary Ellen, I’ve just flushed a dozen Titleists down the toilet.”
“Wow, you must have really played badly today. What happened to cursing and breaking your club in half?”
A few manufacturers claim their seat lowers slowly. This is a great for people who suffer from an occasional lack of success on the throne and want to take out their frustration by slamming down the lid.
My wife asked me if I wanted a round or oblong seat. I looked for a mirror to try to catch a peek over my shoulder to see what would fit best, but this is also going to be the guest bathroom, and our friends come in all shapes and sizes.
And finally, some of the toilets were labeled “smart,” with prices in the thousands. They have 14 buttons and a remote control, but what they remotely control is still a mystery.
I don’t want a smart toilet. I don’t want one that answers the phone or is connected to Bluetooth or gives me a weather report. I don’t want my bottom warmed or scented. I simply want my toilet to sit there.
And I promise to do the same.
