Perhaps you recall that there has been an issue around the Mansion with Farmer H leaving skidmarks on the back of the toilet seat. Yes. I know I didn't warn you of the indelicacy of today's topic. But if you don't know by now what to expect from Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, then YOU need a refresher course of your own.
Farmer H once declared that he doesn't use toilet paper. That he just gets in the shower after a poop. Yeah, right. I was pretty sure he was making that up, because I had asked him why he NEVER brings in a roll of toilet paper when it runs out. So of course he denied any use of such a butt-cleaning implement, and denied that he ever teared a square. I'm actually shocked that he chose the denial method of defense that time, rather than his usual defense of pointing the finger at ME. Of course he had no ammunition in this skirmish, because Mrs. HM does not leave skidmarks on the back of the toilet.
So...Sunday morning, just before Farmer H consumed mass quantities of whole-grain waffles and sugar-free syrup, I took a break from my laundry and future-lunch cooking and grocery-list writing, and made a pit stop.
REEEEEEE! That's the sound of a phonograph needle scratching the not-heaven out of an LP. Things we used to dally with for entertainment back in the olden days. Let the record show that it is not a GOOD thing when the REEEEEEE sound is heard.
THERE WAS A POOP SMEAR ON THE BACK OF THE TOILET SEAT!
Thank the Gummi Mary that Mrs. HM was not having an overactive bladder moment. She put her foot down! Enough is enough! She marched right back to the living room, and asked Farmer H why he was leaving skidmarks on the toilet when Mrs. HM had plainly told him previously that such behavior is NOT WELCOME in the Mansion.
"I didn't leave poop on the toilet seat, HM." He said as though he was explaining to me how to get Diet Coke into a 44 oz cup at the gas station chicken store. As if it was something I knew, and was just trying to provoke him by playing dumb.
"Yes. You did. Come look. Come look right now. I'm tired of wiping the toilet seat before I can use it. You are going to clean it off."
So Farmer H ambled into the master bathroom, shaking his head like he was all out of patience with my hallucinations. He went to the toilet. Leaned to the left. Leaned to the right. Tilted his head like Nipper, the RCA Victor dog.
"I don't see anything."
"Well, you lean on over and take a closer look."
"Huh." Farmer H tore off 3 squares of toilet paper and polished the area of the skid.
"It's still there. It's dried. You'll have to use a baby wipe."
Farmer H yanked one from the dispenser. He swiped that wipe across the skid. Back and forth twice, AND THEN CONTINUED THAT SWIPE AROUND THE ENTIRE CIRCUMFERENCE OF THE TOILET SEAT!!!
"NO! Now you've contaminated the whole seat! I'm going to have to clean it myself. You are ridiculous!"
I swear that man did it on purpose! So I will never again ask him to clean up his own poop!
Oh, some will say that men are just stupid. Stupid crazy, maybe! Because they have figured out how to get away with literal CRAP!