The bog blog

Dear Cistern Sisters,

Today, not for the first time, when I went to the bathroom, I sat in someone else’s pee had an unpleasant experience.

So I have a bone to pick with some of you.

(Gentlemen, feel free to look away now. If you choose to proceed, don’t bitch complain to me. You have. Been. Warned.)

My Cubicle Colleagues, it’s time you and I had a frank chat. I need to talk to you about the way you use that most hideous of common structures; the Public Toilet.

You know the ones. The ones with undefinably nauseating smells, noxiously mystery stains and frightening tragic hilarious bemusing graffiti. The Laydeez Lavs. The bog. The loo.

I’m not going to talk about men’s public toilets. I neither know NOR WANT TO KNOW what those are like. The last time I was in one was thirty-two years a long time ago. Our family was on one of its frequent interstate road trips. At 2am we stopped and a bleary 12 year old me stumbled, half awake, into the (thankfully empty) wrong toilets at the petrol station.

Therapy has done wonders, although I still flinch when someone says urinal.

Which, as it happens, is surprisingly often.

I try to avoid using the public loo. Sometimes, though, the need outweighs the fear and you just have to go.

I know many of my fellow Porcelain Princesses share this abject horror of the Public Lav. If you work in an office, you also have to share a Corporate Loo. There’s no avoiding the fact that sometimes you’re going to have to use amenities that have also been used by revolting filthy alien horrid unknown humans.

Recently, some of you have told me of your techniques for avoiding contact with any surfaces in these offending amenities. Some of you have told me that you don’t sit on the seat.

Excuse me?

That’s right. You hover above the bowl in a feat of super human gymnastic strength, and don’t sit down. I get it – you’re trying to avoid sitting in someone else’s urine. Or maybe you’re just trying to develop the upper-thigh strength of a horse.

This has solved a mystery for me. See, I’m a Butt Planter. When I sit down on said bog, I sit on the seat. And no matter how hard I try, no matter what creative angles I use, I cannot get pee on the seat. It’s physically impossible.

Yes, I’ve tried. Why do you ask?

So exactly whose pee is it that we’re all sitting in avoiding? Who’s responsible for all these porcelain puddles?

It’s you. It’s all you Toilet Hoverers.

You’re trying to avoid the pee created by all the other women trying to avoid the pee of all the other women trying to avoid the pee… in a weird, self-perpetuating Obsessive Compulsive cycle of puddle creation that would make Howard Hughes proud (and revolted).

So here’s the deal, on behalf of myself and all other Butt Planters. If you Bowl Hoverers and Lavatory Levitators promise to plant your butt cheeks firmly down on the seat as it was designed, there will be no more pee puddles.

If you need to develop your upper thigh strength, go to the gym.

(And use the Public Toilets there. I guarantee I’ll never sit in your pee there).

If you don’t honour your part of this deal, I promise I will blog about my theories around why I often find the seat on the toilets in the Ladies Lav up, rather than down.

Think about it.

Don’t make me go there.

Are you a Lavatory Levitator, or Butt Planter?