Many years ago I made the mistake of letting my younger sister and her husband move in with me. It was one of those conditional things where they were looking for a place to live, and they just needed to stay awhile, but it turned into one of those things where everyone just forgets it’s supposed to be temporary. The fact that my sister is one hell of a cook didn’t hurt at all, but at the same time, I had never lived with a couple before. When three people live together and two of them are a couple then the unmarried person is going to lose a lot of three ways votes. When three people are living together and two of them are siblings then the non-family person is going
to lose a lot of votes. Finally, when there is one woman in the house and any number of men live there, the men, no matter how many there might be, are outnumbered.
Because my brother in law was as whipped as a dog with a drinking problem and a small bladder, there was a lot of things going on I didn’t really care for. We watched all of the chick movies when we watched movies. We watched all the chick shows on television when we all sat down and watched television. There were certain items of décor that found themselves in my bedroom, like the cubic beer can pyramid, which I still claim was one of the greatest works of art, ever, until we needed beer money and took them all to the recycle center. It was Summer in South Georgia, the smell became a little too much.
All bets were off during college football season and the three way vote took a turn for the curse because both my brother in law and myself loved football. And we both loved beer. My sister would fly into a rage because she would go visit a friend on Saturday afternoon and when she got back we would still be watching football and we would be hammered, too. Worse yet, when there was late game on we could be up until midnight watching a game, and loving it too.
Now, as fate would have it, we all lived in a giant apartment but it had only one bathroom which adjoined both bedrooms. My sister went to bed late one Saturday, truly angry that a game we had started watching did not come on until nine at night ( love those west coast teams, you hear me?) So after one warning we were making too much noise, there was an interception, a touchdown, and a very small but very loud woman. We turned down the volume, giggled like little girls, and my brother in law had to pee. We went through my bedroom so he didn’t have to face his wife, and then he didn’t flush the toilet just in case she was asleep.
In the third quarter there was a touchdown followed by cheer from the drunks in the living room, high fives, and cursing the likes no man has ever heard before on this earth. Okay, we woke her up, is that such a big deal? But the noise grew in volume and my brother in law got up to see what was the matter. As he approached their bedroom the door was flung open and he got flogged, flogged I tell you, again and again, and out of the bedroom my nearly naked sister emerged and flogged him with what looked like towel at first.
He fell down trying to escape and alas! I was far too eager to accept his sacrifice and flee the scene, go down to the local pub, and drink beer with loud people watching football secure in the knowledge my sister was not going nude in public and if she did, I could outrun her.
Far after midnight I crept back in, and slept soundly, with the doors locked, and the window cracked open, even if it was a cool night.
When I got up the next morning my sister had already left, in a huff, and I discovered what was left of my brother in law on the sofa, something I had missed the night before. It was there he had slept during the night because right before the flogging, and directly before the cursing, my sister had gotten up to use the bathroom. She didn’t want to turn on the light because that would mean she was awake and she didn’t want us to think we could be loud. She sat down and lo, the toilet lid was up so she sat down hard in a very watery place. The water was cold, and we can be ever so grateful for this, you know we can, but the shock of the coldness sent her straight up so fast she lost her footing and down again she sat in the toilet. She stripped of her soaked nightgown and went hunting.
Lid down.
This is why.
Take Care,
Mike
Mike writes regularly at his site: The Hickory Head Hermit
Opinions expressed in this article are not necessarily those of the management of this site.
You and I have actually had this discussion and I’ve given you my “theory” on why it should be lid down. Much more danger lurks for a woman with the lid up than for a man with the lid down.
Hands down. (smile)
In our house it won’t matter because if the lid isn’t down we have toilet breath dogs!
Simple Answer (started by having insane cats in the house): Everyone puts the LID (and the seat under it) down after every use. This ensures insane cats don’t jump in the water, then streak around the house. This also ensures that EVERYONE lifts something and puts something down after using the toilet. No more gender inequality BS.
Or if you don’t have cats, everyone can learn to simply check the position of the Lid and/or Seat prior to use.
That is reason enough for me.
Once you just stop lifting the lid at all is usually when the other sex doesn’t mind if you leave it up and can check it’s orientation for themselves.
Piss over the porch. You’ll be shocked how soon the the lady of the house will forget she ever found complaint in your indoor toilet habits.
LOL, fantastic plan, works well for country dwellers. I’ll bet if you live on the top floor of an apartment complex you soon become very unpopular!
You remind me of my brother. When we were kids we stayed at our grandparents house and they had a farm. In those days you had the outhouses. During the night my brother decided that he didn’t want to have go to the outhouse. He was up on the second floor, and opened up the window and went. My grandparents bedroom was below. Grandma woke up and thought it was raining, so she went to close the window. She looked out the window and saw a full moon and clear sky. She then realized what was happening and started yelling “Dick, Dick (by the way that was his name.) It was just hilarious to hear my Grandma yelling with her German accent.
Anne, that is hilarious.
Thanks Gary. The funny part was in each bedroom was a thundermug or dundermug (I might be wrong in calling it that, and if someone wants to correct me on it, they can.)and my brother could have gone in that, and emptied it out the next morning.
Oh, if you’re wrong they WILL correct you, no doubt about that.
I live far enough out to do that and not worry about it.
I’m very fortunate, as my husband grew up with three women (His mother and 2 sisters), so I’ve never had to worry about the lid being up. Other than that in between times the cat lays on the toilet seat in the afternoon. In that case when you can’t use the toilet while the cat is laying on, but use the toilet in the 1/2 bath.
I always told my ex if I was meant to have a wet ass, I’d have been born with webbed feet.
And that would explain the “ex” part to your comment.
Even if I didn’t have dogs I would put the lid down. That wet ass thing is a monster.
When I get up to go at night (more often lately), it’s easier to sit down, than turn on the light and aim. That solves that.
Are all y’all talking “lids” or “seats” or both?
While shopping for a new toilet seat I discovered a “new” type. The “self-damper” type. (Also easy to remove, for cleaning, from the top only). Just a little nudge and it slowly (and quietly) closes (seat or both).
The only problem is, I forget when I an visiting and everyone hears a loud SLAM from the bathroom.
One of the many ways in which I am blessed is that my wife, from day one, informed me that she would take responsibility for the toilet seat and that I need not worry about it. She also likes action movies.
how about just have his and her bathrooms