Toilet Seats: Good Gift or Not?

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.