Skin to the Porcelain

- By Schnockered Mom Natalie

There is another tie that binds the wenches together. In addition to each of us being professional working moms and red-headed in one form or another, I discovered during our last Wench Night that none* of us uses seat protectors in public restrooms.

[*None meaning of those who were present that particular night.]

Don't ask how this topic surfaced. Actually, I know how it surfaced. I pointedly asked the others. I have noticed in recent years an increasing number of women regularly using toilet seat protectors in public restrooms. For example, I'm amazed at the wide-spread use of seat protectors by the women in my office building. I have yet to pee without hearing the familiar rrrriiiippp, rustle, rustle, rustle of a seat protector being dispensed in the adjacent stall. With one exception. The 73-year old secretary on my floor, like me, refuses to use seat protectors. Maybe she thinks I've made it this long without them so why start now.

Sometimes I feel peer pressure to use seat protectors. I feel guilty if the person next to me knows I place my bare ass on the porcelain. How dirty of me. How irresponsible I am. But then again how sanitary is it to wrestle with a thin piece of paper that irritatingly slides around on the slippery seat only to fall in, off to one side or on the floor? And then you are forced to retrieve the blasted thing once it's soaked up the cooties that have splashed onto the floor and collected near the drain. And what the hell are you supposed to do with that middle section? It's cut as if it should easily pop it out. But the entire thing rips in two should you should attempt it. Are you supposed to leave the middle piece in place? What will happen when the urine stream hits it? Will there be splash-back? Obviously I was never trained to properly use these things.

I had a thought the umpteenth time I heard my stall neighbor furiously arranging a seat protector on the toilet seat. How many of those women do it out of shame or fear of being judged? Do they actually pull the protectors out of the dispenser and scrunch them for a moment before just throwing them into the bowl? I'd like to see the numbers.

There is no solid scientific evidence that diseases are passed thigh to thigh from sitting down on a toilet seat. Bathroom door handles and faucets are a much more legitimate source of germs than the commodes. Especially the spotlessly clean commodes that are regularly sanitized by the crack janitorial staff at my high-end, brand-spanking new office building. I could probably eat my lunch off the seat without getting sick. It's an irrational fear of germs that forces these women to use seat protectors. Like when I was a kid and thought germs were these amazingly agile and quick creatures that would crawl great distances from the end of a stick clear to my hand in the time it took to jab at a dead bird or pile of dog poop.

Seat protectors are as wasteful as wrapping a big mitten of toilet paper around your hand to wipe. I'm tired of feeling shame for not using them. I need a slogan. Humm...well "skin" and "porcelain" definitely rhyme. That's a good place to start. "Go ahead. Put the skin to the porcelain..." I could get the environmentalists to take up my cause. We could come up with a catchy logo and print t-shirts announcing our refusal to use seat protectors. Maybe a talking toilet with the catch phrase, "Slap me some skin!" as our cartoon spokesperson.

Our office has sought to reduce waste in other ways such as the reusable coffee cup, energy-saving lights, sustainable wood for the flooring. Maybe I could get the firm on board. Encourage my office mates to bring their own re-usable potty skins to work. Next thing you know everyone will be washing up and tucking away their personal potty skins in the act of washing their hands. "Porcelain Skins" could be made of that gel material in Dr. Scholl's inserts or iPhone skins. So comfy. No slippage. Easy clean-up. And they fold away into a handy and stylish carrying case. They could even be ribbed for her pleasure.*

[*Note: Dry humping the Porcelain Skin is not an approved use of the device.]

As Jamie so eloquently put it, this could become a movement [pardon the pun]. The sounds of rrriiiippp, rustle, rustle, rustle in the stall next door will eventually become a thing of the past and a shameful reminder of our excesses and disregard for the environment.