The Last Bastion of Manhood
OK, this may get just a little too gross, but I'll try to keep it to a minimum. No promises, but I'll try. So, I was at work today and felt the need to use the facilities. So, I grabbed my Sin City graphic novel "A Dame To Kill For" (Excellent, by the way) and headed to the bathroom. While I'm sitting there, doing what it is people do while sitting on a toilet, a client must've come in with his little kid, or possibly two. The little kid starts screaming and yelling and making comments about the fragrance in the air, and even yelling at his dad for letting a few rip while he was at the urinal. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to yell at the kid something about his crap not stinking too, but not in that family friend a way. But I thought better of it, because I didn't need his father busting down the door for cursing in front of his kid.
The point to the nasty story? As I get closer and closer to living with three women, that last bastion of manhood, the bathroom (and there's only one), is going to be taken away from me. I just see it now. Shari already asked me how I felt about pre-fabricated art in the bathroom. I was like, huh? And Seth explained something about Target bought Ann Geddes pictures, which are already up in the bathroom of her apartment. I said it was fine, but I should've made a comment that I'm cool with it as long as she's OK with an issue or two of Playboy in there too. Honestly, I value my bathroom time and do my best thinking in there, as I'm sure most men do.
It also reminded me of a scene in one of the funniest shows I've ever seen, Coupling, a British sitcom that they tried to bring to NBC a few years ago, Americanized of course, as a hopeful replacement to Friends. It didn't work in the US, but the UK version is hilarious. In an episode, Steve, is pissed at his live in girlfriend Susan for taking the lock off the bathroom door, and made that known at a dinner party. The scene is as follows:
Susan: Men and toilets, the love that dare not speak its name. What's that about?
Steve: [slams hand down] We are men! Throughout history, we have always needed, in times of difficulty, to retreat to our caves. It so happens that in this modern age, our caves are fully plumbed. The toilet is, for us, the last bastion, the final refuge, the last few square feet of man-space left to us! Somewhere to sit, something to read, something to do, and who gives a damn about the smell? Because that, for us, is happiness. Because we are *men.* We are different. We have only one word for soap. We do not own candles. We have never seen anything of any value in a craft shop. We do not own magazines full of pictures of celebrities with all their clothes *on*. When we have conversations, we actually take it in turns to talk! But we have not yet reached that level of earth-shattering boredom and inhuman despair that we would have a haircut *recreationally*. We don't know how to get excited about... really, *really* boring things, like ornaments, bath oil, the countryside, vases, small churches. I mean, we do not even know what, *what* in the name of God's *ass* is the purpose of pot-pourri! Looks like breakfast, smells like your auntie! Why do we need that? So please, in this strange and frightening world, allow us one last place to call our own. This toilet, this blessed pot, this... fortress of solitude. You girls, you may go to the bathroom in groups of two or more. Yet we do not pass comment. We do not make judgment. That is your choice. But we men will always walk the toilet mile... alone.
[audience applauds]
Susan: Would you like me to put the lock back on the toilet door, dear?
Steve: Would you mind?
Susan: You should have asked.