Farmer H and I had a little talk when he came home early from his Storage Unit Store on Saturday. Oh, he wasn't rushing home to see me. The weather was cold and rainy. No business.
"You need to clean your dried poop off the back of the toilet seat again. I'm not your nanny. Not your home health aide. If you can't take care of your toileting needs, we'll hire one."
The reaction was much along the same vein as last week, when Farmer H said about all the stuff he tracks in on his boots daily, "ONE OF US needs to run the vacuum."
"Maybe YOU pooped on the toilet."
"No. That would be downstairs. IN, not ON. Besides, I heard you at 6:00 a.m. pooping."
"No. I just farted."
"When you get up from your lunch, I expect you to clean your dried poop off the back of the toilet seat."
"Whatever, HM."
"Surely you don't think it's wrong of me to object to sitting on your dried poop. Or to wiping off your dried poop."
He went into the master bathroom. Stayed a while. Came back out. Was ALMOST apologetic.
"Huh. I guess that happened right before I got in the shower."
"Imagine if YOU sat in MY poop several times a week. And then cleaned it off. And I denied it when you confronted me about my habits."
"I don't know how I didn't see that."
"Yeah. That's what I always ask myself. How could you NOT SEE that?"
Let the record show that we went to a casino on Saturday. Once we were back home, I was standing at the end table, putting my gambling purse back in order, when I burped.
"EXCUSE YOU!" said Farmer H.
"Sorry. I am NOT going to listen to etiquette instructions from a toilet-seat pooper."
6 comments:
At least yours finally admitted he did it. My TSP has a butt made of Teflon. No blame sticks to it.
Yours (at least) saw the light. Or more accurately, the dark (stain).
Sioux,
Now I want a TOILET SEAT made of Teflon! I think maybe calling out Farmer H to clean it himself will make him more observant in the future. Maybe.
I'm glad you called him out and made him clean it. I used to do that to my kids when they were using the toilet by themselves after the initial toilet training was over. "This is a shared toilet, everybody else in this house does not want to sit on your mess. Would you like to sit in someone else's poop or wee? No? Then clean it before you wash your hands." you gotta train 'em young!
River,
I am seeing and explanation (not an excuse!) for Farmer H's laxness in this matter. He grew up with two brothers. His mom was hospitalized most of the time, and his dad was blind. But more importantly, he did not have indoor plumbing! So there was nobody to teach him, and I suppose the cleanliness standards of the outhouse were lower.
Then again, I am not his first wife. You'd think somebody before me would have made an effort to train him.
Probably the first wife tried too hard and that's why she's an ex?
I remember Farmer H's background from a previous post or two. Things might have been a bit different if he'd had a sister?
I remember not having indoor plumbing for a while, then watching my dad dig trenches and holes and laying pipe and installing a septic tank, then the happy day when pink bathroom fittings were delivered and connected.
River,
No, she apparently found someone who was better toilet-trained!
My sister the little future ex-mayor's wife and I had pink sinks, pink bathtub, and a pink toilet in our bathroom! You can imagine how SHOCKED we were after selling Mom's house to our cousin, when he decided to completely renovate that bathroom.
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