A Man's Toilet Cleaning Tips.
This last week I have been faced with two vexing conundrums.
The first was “How many dogs are too many dogs?” and the second was “What’s the most efficient way to get skid marks off a toilet bowl?”
Now I know what you are thinking. “Perky, how on earth are you going to write a blog that combines these two very different questions into a meaningful cohesive insightful article.”
Well stand back and take note, oh ye of little faith, because what you are about to witness is a writer at the very peak of his prowess, who has been called the greatest New Zealand writer of his generation (my words) showing how to weave a tapestry of unrivalled magnificent eloquence into a thoughtful easily understandable and enjoyable few words that even you, simple though you may be, can understand.
My wife mentioned the other day that maybe we should get another dog. Now we have a dog. The dog's name is Poppy and she is the most brainless gormless mutt that ever shat on a lawn.
When God was giving out brains, Poppy thought he said milkshakes and asked for a thick one but not being overly endowed with brains is hardly a crime, is it?
I mean if it was, most of you, my dear readers, would be incarcerated.
But I digress.
Despite Poppy’s lack of basic thinking skills that means you must suffer the indignity (bear in mind she is only slightly smaller than a horse) of having to bodily lift her over any barrier marginally higher than a pavement gutter while taking her for a walk, she is a lovely dog that I have a great deal of affection for.
But another one. Not on your life!
“There is absolutely no way on God’s green earth that we are getting another dog,” I said. “It’s intolerable, negligible and unethical. I don’t like having to pull rank but I’m afraid I’ll be putting my foot down with a firm hand on this one and there will be no negotiation, dialogue or correspondence. We are not, I repeat Not, getting another dog and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
I fixed my wife with a steely gaze and she meekly simpered “Yes Dear”.
Having established my manful dominance at home, I swaggered on down to my place of work to relay the conversation to my workmates and bask in their admiring looks. After the praise and admiration for my manliness had been lavished indiscriminately upon me by Harold and Bertie, I headed off to the little boy’s room to do number ones, as its politely known in our office.
Here I was faced (quite literally) with my second question (skid mark removal) as the brown smear shone brightly against the sparkling whiteness of the enamel and in a manner reminiscent of a young Arnold Schwarzenegger, seemed to be tauntingly saying “Well what are you gunna do about it?”
Well I’ll tell you what I did about it.
I did what every guy I have spoken to does and that is direct the stream of urine onto the skid mark in a noble attempt to clean the bowl and in doing so make the world a better place.
Unfortunately, all my efforts were to no avail and the stubborn wee brown mark stayed stuck like a limpet to the bowl.
In despair, I called upon Harald and Bertie and we battled vainly all afternoon to remove the stain.
Late in the day with our spirits at an uncharacteristically low ebb, we formulated a desperate new plan of attack that involved each of us drinking as much fluid as possible so as to increase pressure and then, in a heroic final last stand, we crowded into the stall to triple the water flow.
As the day came to a close, we sat outside our office in the sun, drying our urine-soaked sneakers and wondered if women take a similar approach to cleaning stubborn toilet stains.
Given angle issues, and the prevalence of toilet brushes we think they probably don’t!
P.S The new dog will be arriving next week!
And the stain remained!