The Corona Chronology: Day 15

Note: Another snippet from one of my works-in-progress, wherein our heroine, Tiffany, has arrived at the lavish apartment of her potential and apparently-wealthy foreign lover, Aegean I. (Just accept his name for now; the backstory is too intense.) At one point, Tiffany simply wishes to use the powder room, one that is supposedly sound-proofed (again, just run with it). Things do not go as planned…


A Short Bit about What Not to Do in the Loo


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.

Oh no.

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 tres.” 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…”


Previously published. Slight changes made for this post.

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.)

P.S. It is pure happenstance that I referenced Chernobyl in back-to-back posts. I promise that I don’t have an odd fetish about things that glow in the dark. Well, mostly not.


19 replies »

  1. I waxed rather philosophic recently about Chernobyl of the rear exit portal. I suffer from the same as poor Tiffany there (on occasion) and am really careful to make sure such events happen in the comfort (no pun intended I SWEAR) 😆 of my own station. I have had such melt-downs in public a time or two and it always ended up with shaming (my own inner voice asking what in the frig I thought I was doing – going out in public AT ALL, given my internal combustion malfunctions) and a hasty exit to make sure I made it home. In the time of no automobile (a stark and barren wasteland in my past) I had to beg a ride once from a good friend (female). I kept the window rolled down a little on our journey from what was to be my festive birthday lunch, which was interrupted before the cheese nachos even showed up on the table, by signals from below that a melt down was imminent and to man the life boats. I spent the majority of that lunch in the loo, and finally when it was apparent to me that the next thing to exit the ship would be my toenails, I scurried out and begged the ride home. My poor friend. Come to think of it, we never were as close after that scene. Nothing untoward happened in her car (thank GOD for strength in the clenching) but it did smell faintly of brimstone in there after I got out. I barely made it to my own dumping station and the whole thing began to play out again. If that had happened in the home of a lover or FWB of mine, I doubt the rose would have EVER shown it’s rather grimy face to that individual ever again. It sucks (well one wishes it sucked) to have IBS. Poor Tiffany. Aegean I (the sea?) is a very understanding man. I still bet he disconnected the spy cam in the bog after that. And asked for the rose as a way to deflect Tiffany’s curiosity about why he heard what he did.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Well, now, this was certainly an informative little jaunt. And despite the pain you may have endured, your travelogue, as it were, thrilled me immensely and, in the end (ahem), isn’t it all about making you readers happy, even if you die a slow death whilst things play out? Of course it is.

      On to even more frank sharing: I don’t think I have IBS, as I’m generally happy as a lamb during most digestive days, but there are moments from time to time when the torrent is overwhelming and I lose all faith in the possibility that I am going to get through the experience without psychological damage. Our bodies can be revolting in their revolts.

      As for Aegean I, I really need to finish that particular book-in-progress and shove it out on the Internet, as I guarantee you that the background story behind his moniker will satisfy you to at least some degree. Because in the end (ahem, part two), it really is about the readers who stick with you…


  2. I must say, upon reading this I grew quite concerned as it is clear proof that you have made a habit of entering ladies restrooms. Otherwise, how would you know about Italian tile, gold-speckled hand soap or convenient resting benches, all required by federal law, 42 U.S. Code Sub Chapter II, Emission Controls and Other Feminine Wiles. But then I realized you probably asked a friend to do the research for you, right? RIGHT?!

    Liked by 2 people

    • Whilst I cannot deny that I have been in ladies restrooms for various reasons over the years, in this particular case I am completely innocent, at least in theory. Since this “short bit” is from a much longer, overall bit, it’s not clear that our heroine has entered a multi-sex comfort station and not a regulated one. Some day, I will release the entire krakken.

      On a less happy note, I must inform you that I have no choice but to report you to a vague authority for your violation of disclosing secret details about the federal law you cite. Because a lady should never tell. But men do… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  3. 😂😂😂 Oh Brian,
    Thank you so much for putting ‘the world’ into perspective following Abit of a down day yesterday.
    The toilet experience although funny somehow has a strange ring of reality which I suppose is what makes it so funny.
    I remember a thrift store experience two Christmas’s ago after using self service option to purchase toilet rolls. A voice from the machine expressed a happy Christmas wish & a hope that I would enjoy my present! What seemed more remarkable was that I responded to the machine’s comment as I have done in the past to talking a.t.m’s.

    Liked by 1 person

    • First, I’m sorry that you had a down day. I could tell by your comments that things were a bit off, but I wasn’t sure what, so I apologize if my responses might have seemed flippant.

      Second, even when I get absurd here at Bonnywood, which is every day, I hope that my little stories DO have a ring of reality. In the end, we’re all in this together, so we might as well make the best of the hiccups and speed bumps.

      Third, I talk to inanimate objects all the time. Which, to be fair, is not all that unusual. But sometimes they talk back to me. And therein lies the issue… 😉

      Chin up. It all eventually works out…

      Liked by 1 person

      • Not st all Brian, appearing to sound flippant is what I am often guilty of. No apologies needed but thanks anyway.
        Life does seem absurd at times and taking a humorous view of it helps accommodate the hiccoughs & speed bumps.
        Let’s hope the inanimate objects don’t begin to sound more reasonable than the ‘reasonable’ ones, that would be scary.
        Enjoy your day.
        Although didn’t sleep well I feel much more positive today. Nice sunny day, going to cook yummy breakfast. Looking forward to a zoom session 12 30 with Ruby Wax’s ‘Frazzled Cafe’.

        Liked by 1 person

  4. I anticipate that your faithful readers have enough loo stories to inspire you that may have to create whole new blog.
    Btw – thank heaven for heated seats, and I am not referring to the car!lol

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hell, I have enough loo stories of my OWN to start another blog. I have no problems with Function Number One (I can pee anywhere, anytime, sorry for the overshare). But the second function? Severe psychosis on my part with that angle. I will do ANYTHING to avoid Number Two in a public setting or, really, any setting where I am not entirely alone. Naturally, my absurd efforts at avoidance have led to disastrous situations that I am still sharing with my therapist… 😉

      Liked by 1 person

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