How the Squatty Potty Has Me Doubting Everything I’ve Ever Learned

February 22, 2017.Reading time 4 minutes.

It started as a joke. I had never heard of this thing called the Squatty Potty, but anything with such a name must be investigated. When I went to Amazon and read the reviews, I was hooked – laughing my butt off. I slowly found myself believing that this might be a revolution in elimination. As a sample, I offer this haiku left by a satisfied user:

“Oh Squatty Potty
You fill me with endless joy
Yet leave me empty.”

There are many more – some that will make you howl with laughter and maybe pee a little, although the squatty potty won’t help with that. My research even led me to Dookie the Unicorn and this compelling ad:

Then I saw the price and this is where I leave you. I am not about to spend $25 on a piece of plastic no matter how funny and glowing the reviews! I made my final decision and thought it was over. Along came Christmas. I’m one of those people who is impossible to buy for. My dresser is full of bright t-shirts with pithy sayings. This year, my daughters went in together and, you guessed it, wrapped up a Squatty Potty for me. It was a joke, but no one’s laughing now.

Everyone tried it and let me just say, it works – Big Time! Believe the hype. I’ll spare you the details unlike some of those hysterical reviewers.

I do, however, have some major complaints.

First – Toilet time for a man with four children has always been somewhat sacred. I have done some of my best thinking in the lavatory and believe that I could have solved some of the world’s greatest problems had life not beckoned. And now it is gone. Average time with this product leaves just a few seconds for coherent thought.

Second – The thing is like a magnet. We have four toilets in the house and yet I find everyone moving to and in mine. The packaging should include a lock for the door.

Finally, and most importantly – Using the toilet was one of the first things I learned to do way back when my feet dangled from it. Now at the age of forty-nine I have discovered that I have been doing it wrong all along. What’s next? Is this an isolated situation? What else am I blundering?

Have I been breathing wrong all this time? Maybe if I had learned better I could breathe underwater… or through my ears.
Perhaps I walk wrong and if I perambulated differently, I could do it faster… or longer… or on my hands.
Would my penmanship could be neater if I had learned with my feet?

This is where I have a major issue with the Squatty Potty! It has me doubting everything I’ve ever learned. The very foundation of my life’s instruction has been shaken to the core by a little stool – okay, a lot of stool – and I’m not sure how to reconstruct my existence.

Meatness

October 12, 2016.Reading time 4 minutes.

I’m a fairly open-minded bloke. I actually like to hear differing opinions if they are well thought-out and can be communicated civilly. I typically refuse to argue a point because it doesn’t change anyone. As a rule, I don’t delve into politics often because they tend to divide. I like to think of myself as a uniter.

I live in the ultra-conservative southeast and I love it there. Recently I found myself preparing for a west coast trip. Before I left, a friend warned me about the liberal tripe I would be exposed to “out there”.

Surprisingly, I didn’t find IT. I supposed it is all in what you are looking for and what glasses you use to frame your view.

My lovely wife and I walked to dinner holding hands and there were other couples holding hands. Like us and not like us. We spoke to people – none of whom talked like us but we understood each other once they slowed down and we listened more intently. Both sides working a little but it really didn’t take much effort to facilitate conversation.

I was about to text my friend and tell him he was a paranoid idiot when IT happened! I was seated at breakfast and I became uncomfortable with a person nearby. The tables were too close together at this place and she was quite obviously different than me. We did not belong together. I considered asking the waiter to move me as she began giving her order. She was…

(OH THE HORROR!)

A vegetarian!

As she ordered her breakfast, I thought of many reasons why I could not be a vegetarian:

First, I really like meat.

Second, I’m not sure my family could put up with me if I ate only fibrous plants.

Third, the effort it took for her to make her dietary needs expressed is beyond my intelligence level. I only have to grunt and say “pig!”

Speaking of pig, I had three varieties on my plate within smell of her. The three divine pork food groups: bacon, sausage, and ham. Right there, on the plate beside her. Funny thing is, she didn’t ask to be moved or turn her nose up at me. She was so different, but she seemed to accept the difference. I had just shredded a piece of bacon with my teeth and gored a sausage as my next victim when she said hello.

“Why would this person of vegetable persuasion talk to me?” I wondered.

I responded awkwardly as I wiped the pig fat from my chin and what followed was a very pleasant conversation between meat lover and vegetarian. She didn’t seem to judge me for my meatness and I didn’t condemn her vegetableness and we got along swimmingly. We didn’t try to win the other over and I actually liked her even though I still prefer meat.

Huh?

Could it be that vegetarians are people too?

Can I survive their difference although we may never agree on what a fork should spear?

Good thing I get to go back to the Southeast where meat is revered. But wait, I hear vegetarians are migrating everywhere because we haven’t found a way to close borders as effectively as we can seal minds yet. What will become of our narrow little worlds if we are all mixed together with people who are different than us?