The seat of power

I can't believe I'm typing this. I never thought things would go this far. I'm almost ashamed to share this in a public forum, so many people I know will be shocked, possibly disappointed by my admission.

However, I can't keep it to myself any longer. I am in love with a toilet seat.

Ok, so it's not that drastic, but I am rather fond of this particular bowl at work. Normally I'm shy of placing my baby-soft bottom on foreign surfaces. I'm a lid-wiper, toilet-paper-spreader or seat-coverer. I don't like dampness that is not my own to marr my skin. I need the illusion of clean even as my mind rejects the possiblity. I'm so uptight about it that I have been known to walk directly out of a facility if it's just too nasty at first sight. I have my standards.

And then I met "huggie bowl." I can't put my finger on the appeal. The back of the seat hugs my bottom in a welcoming caress. It's never cold. It's never damp. It cradles me, pulls me into an intimate embrace.

I'm only at the part-time gig two days a week. Two days to revel in plastic dreams. Two days of tinkling delight. And then it's back home where my sad normal toilet needs to be cleaned because the ball of fire and the concept of aiming are still at odds.

I still can't believe I just blogged about a toilet. That exemplifies the sheer power of this bowel. Power to the pee-pee!