I screwed up. For reals. On Father’s Day I gifted the best father I know, Mr. Mary Tyler Mom, a toilet seat. Shame on me.
Were I to post some sort of defense, I might take this approach:
- We needed one. Desperately.
- Mr. Mary Tyler Mom is the one who made it so we needed a new one, I’m certain. My arse is dainty. And clean. And only produces roses and lilacs.
- Father’s Day is less celebratory after you bury a child. Just like Mother’s Day. Mid-May through mid-June is just another time of year we endure as we are barraged with shiny, happy moms and dads and explicit ads directing us what to buy them: ties! diamonds! flowers! golf balls! I’m certain there was a toilet seat ad in there somewheres, right?
Yeah, were this brought to court, a jury of my peers would surely find me guilty. I don’t even want to think about what a jury of my husband’s peers would find me. Forgive me, dear husband. I definitively failed you on this one. I knew this when we were standing in line at airport security, a full six days later, and Mr. Mary Tyler Mom, an unusually affable man, made a dig about it. Ouch. Again, forgive me. The thing is, once you spring a toilet seat on someone as a gift, there’s no good way to take it back. Kind of like poop. That shit is not going back.
Sigh. I meant well. And we did need one. And Mr. Mary Tyler Mom has his hands full with work, parenting, dealing with me . . . This purchase, I thought, was doing him a favor. Saving him a trip to the Target, then a return trip to the Target when he realized he got the wrong size. Then a trip to the Lowe’s for the proper size. Do you even know how much a toilet seat costs these days? More than a few ties or golf balls, I’ll tell you that.
So consider me humbled. I have eaten a heaping bowl of crow. I am sorry, dear husband, amazing father, best man I know. Truly. You deserve much better than a toilet seat. And next year? I will do better. I promise. xox.
Mary Tyler Mom 