The Sad, Sad Toilet - A Memoir

Hello dear readers. My name is Toilet. I've enjoyed a good life with Mommica, Husband, Princess and Prince. In fact, I remember the day Husband picked me out at Home Depot... I couldn't believe how lucky I was to be picked! I live in hall bathroom now, and while things are a bit more eventful at times now that the children are in the world, I'm quite happy. I'm used often and have witnessed some gruesome, and some lovely things in my short life.

The lovely things? Oh I remember Princess's first time on me. She called me the "big girl potty" - ah, the celebration, the tears. Prince's first crying when placed upon the "big boy potty" (he's not ready for me quite yet). Mommica's many nights sitting contentedly on my lid while we watched the kids bathe happily in the tub. The Prince hands splashing around in my water before Mommica comes and scolds him. Yes, I've seen some sweet times.

I've also seen some dark times. Times I don't wish to recall. And yet, something keeps bringing me back to that terrible place. In fact, I still have nightmares about it all when it happened the first time ... I was alone... disassembled like some two-bit appliance thrown in the yard where uncivilized animals go to the bathroom. No love. No TP. Husband had to unscrew every bolt, loosen every seal and pry me off the wall... taking me from my home, only to shove things up my pipes I had no idea could be shoved there. Yes, I was returned to my home, feeling cleansed and a bit free-er. But I cannot bear the thought of another cold, dark night when I'm ripped from all that I know and love about my life in hall bathroom.

You see, the Prince likes throw toys in water... all water - whether it's a mop bucket, the dog water bowl, or my beloved bowl. He callously laughes as he watches them go 'bye-bye' into the abyss that is my pipes. But he doesn't know the torment he puts me through. And as hard as I try to flush the toys and avoid the hell that's sure to follow, it's to no avail. He doesn't hear Husband swear like an emotionally-charged premenstrual woman who's just run out of chocolate ice cream, when he sees me overflowing from clogged pipes. The Prince just thinks its all fun and games.

And yet... here I am again. Brutally torn from my safety. My home in hall bathroom. Damn that doll shoe and bracelet that I could not pass. My only hope is that Husband will remember the good times we've had. The clean flushes. The quiet mornings reading together. Will I ever be allowed to return? Not if Prince can help it, I fear.