It's a Bidet

Years ago I attended a dinner party in an enormous house. This was back before the day of McMansions. There was a large game room along with a full size racquetball court.  However, the supposed crowning glory was a bathroom down in the recesses of the home.  The screeching woman sent her mousy husband ahead of the tour to prepare the bathroom for showing.

The bathroom was incredibly large and contained a steam shower which is what the obedient husband had to turn on for us (Oooooh) and, what I could only ascertain as two toilets, side by side. Why would someone put two toilets side by side?  "It's a bidet," the screecher informed us with superiority.

"Ohhhh," we all responded.  The group moved on.

"What's a booday?" I asked the quiet, computer geeky husband.

He blushed.  He stammered.  He stuttered.  He finally squeaked out something about a device from Europe that cleans the behind.  He also corrected my pronunciation.  "It's biDAY."

I have not seen a bidet since nor have I understood the point of one.  Toilet paper.  I'm a fan.

At a recent visit to much loathed retail store, my bladder called my attention just as I stumbled upon a family bathroom in the back of the store.  I walked past the paper towel dispenser.  It sensed my movement and dispensed a foot of paper towel. I continued past the hand dryers (they had both) and swept my hand under it until it turned on.

As I sat on the toilet, I mused how very little we need to touch in the bathroom when we go.  There are however, two areas we can not escape touching.  The toilet paper and the handle for the door.  I shifted my weight and then I got it.

The bidet. The accidental bidet, that is.

When I shifted my weight on the toilet seat, the sensor was set off and it flushed before I was finished.  With all the power that only a commercial toilet can produce, I was "cleansed."  It was not pleasant.

Thank you, founding fathers, for not bringing this atrocity into my bathroom. I still had to use toilet paper.