Tee Hee Haw

Here in Virginia, contractors tend to be good ol' boys. (And rarely even remotely attractive, more's the pity.) So it is with the crew that's been building our new bathroom.

We're finally nearing the end, and this morning they installed the commode. Things were pretty quiet until the merry trio got the washlet on and started testing it.

Lawd a'mighty! Such hootin' an' hollerin', you'da thought they was a passel o' boys what snuck into the wimmin's changin' room.

I shouldn't have been surprised. I had a friend who grew up in a tiny hamlet on Virginny's swampy southern border. His father was the town doctor, his mother a nurse. They had the first Volvo in town (in the 1980s!) -- and the first and only bidets. One of his sisters was showing a local friend around their newly built house, and when they got to the girls' bathroom, the friend exclaimed, "Oh my gawd! Dual stools!"

More recently, a friend in North Carolina had her master bath redone. The workmen were the usual sophisticates, and one of them asked, "Whaddya want that for?," referring to the bidet. "I considered telling him you get a lot more lovin' with a fresh lulu," she said, "but instead I told him to mind his own damn business."

Likewise, I could have told our plumbers about my gnawing apprehension of losing the ability to wipe my own ass, but I didn't. It was none of their damn business. Besides, they were having a blast.