By Jenny Levine
Last night I had an intimate talk with my toilet.
She asked me, “How do you do?”
I responded with a mix of sushi, mac and cheese and tequila–
I don’t think she liked that at all.
In the morning, she refused to flush.
But, that’s not unusual, my toilet is very particular about how you flush
Up, down, round and round
I don’t think she likes me at all- or maybe,
She likes me so much that every time my pea sized bladder needs relief
She decides to give me an extra arm workout
(god knows I avoid the gym like I avoid personal responsibility.)
After our 3 am chat, I decided I needed to branch out
So at my 9:30 lecture I befriended a lovely toilet I named Hortense
She was low enough to the ground so I could crouch like a baby,
Or a woman on her menzies,
When I talked my talk of burping and colorless spit,
I knew I’d found the one.
Yes ladies, the one you go to Kleinfeld’s with Randy by your side,
But much like the tormented Odysseus, fate had other plans
I in fact did have to to attend lecture.
When I slipped back into my cinder block home
I knew amends would have to prepared
So I poured one out for her, Ole Reliable, my porcelain throne,
This is for you, may you always be there to flush down vomit
Or if I can’t make it, maybe the sink will do.