Note: Another snippet from the work-in-progress for NaNoWriMo, wherein our heroine has arrived at the lavish apartment of her potential foreign lover (Aegean I, just accept the name for now) and simply wishes to use the powder room, one that is supposedly sound-proofed (again, just run with it). Things do not go as planned…
Once inside the bathroom, which was larger than the recording studio where I made my last album, “Tiffany Sings Better than Barbra”, I temporarily forgot about the mafia hit that might be taking place in the other room. It was stunning. The vanity alone, once I crossed the vast expanse of Italian tile to get there, was exquisite. The hand soap had actual gold flecks and smelled of persimmons and trust funds. The hand towel rested on a warmer made of titanium and cobalt, one that burbled “please enjoy” when you lifted the towel and “thank you for your time” when you returned it. The faucet had settings for “Venetian Spring”, “Tuscan Summer” and “Sicilian Sighs”. Naturally, I tested them all, and I had several conversations with the towel.
Just as naturally, seeing all this lush technology, I then wondered what marvels the toilet might proffer. I hiked my way over there, stopping once at a convenient resting bench along the way, and discovered that said toilet had more options than the menu at the coffee house where my evening’s obsession had begun. There was a large programming panel on the wall just above the tank as well as a handy remote. Choices included “Heated Vibration”, “Feng Shui Ambiance”, “Ring for Attendant” and “Notify Cook to Begin Making Omelet”.
It was imperative that I try this thing out. I hiked my skirt and slid down my panties. (To be honest, I was somewhat surprised to find that I was wearing such. I often didn’t know, as I was a very busy girl.) I was somewhat disappointed that I was only able to provide a very modest offering to the Recycling God, long before I had test-driven all of the options on the remote. This did not deter me, of course, as I continued to play long after the last drop.
Finally, after reviewing my horoscope and listening to a selection of Medieval canticles, I thought it best that I tidy up, as there had been plenty of time for the forced eviction and/or fratricide to play out back in the living room. As I was bending over to pull up my monogrammed panties, darkness stole across the land. There was just the slightest internal bubble, and then suddenly I realized that I was about to be subjected to the most seismic bowel movement in recorded history.
I barely had time to sit back up before the onslaught reached Category 5. The turbulence that was I was riding was so intense that something started beeping and padded arms came out of the wall to hold me in place. The screen on the remote lit up, although I could barely read it, what with all the jostling and gaseous expulsions from the core of the earth. “Should we alert medical authorities? Please press 1 if you are conscious, 2 if you are not. Por español, prensa 3.” At one point, I thought I heard the foundation of the building crack, but that may have just been my soul.
Then it was over. Well, not the humiliation angle. There was a knock at the door. “My love, the toilet texted me of an issue. Are you okay?”
I was initially too stunned to speak, but I eventually found the words. “Um, I’m, um. Yeah. I’m fine. Give me just a few minutes and I’ll join you shortly.”
Aegean I (at least I hoped it was him): “Please, take all time needed. But hurry. Brother is gone and I yearn with desire to harvest the rose.”
No, he wasn’t going anywhere near my rose, now that it was on par with Chernobyl, a radiated wasteland of abandoned buildings and Ferris wheels that no longer turned. “Wait. Do you mind if I take a shower?”
Aegean I: “Is not needed. I come from country with low water pressure. Rose always pretty when available.”
Oh, he was very wrong there. “How sweet. Still, it’s been a long day and… yeah, I just need to use your shower. I’ll be out in a bit.”
“I live for the moment with hoping.” There were sounds of him turning and walking away, and as he did so, I realized that I shouldn’t have been able to hear his steps or his words if this was truly a soundproofed bathroom. Which means that he had heard… no, I can’t go there. It’s done and he still wants my rose. Maybe the women in his country always recycle before the harvest.
The screen on the remote lit up again. “Satellite imagery indicates that there are survivors. Please press 1 if evacuation assistance is needed. Press 2 if quarantine procedures should be implemented. Press 3 if a power wash is required. Press 4 to rate this app on your mobile device.”
I stabbed at the “3” key with more intensity than I have ever done anything in my entire life. The screen dimmed alarmingly. “Low battery. Malfunc…”
Story behind the photo: A random shot of a surprisingly-large men’s restroom at a convenience store south of Midland, Texas. (I have no idea why I initially snapped such. I’m assuming I found the design rather fetching for a comfort station in the middle of nowhere. These things happen when you’ve been on the road for too long without a decent phone signal.)
Categories: Work In Progress