Forgive my potty mouth. After spending three weeks in China and Tibet the best part of my day, week, and life after returning to America is having a western-style toilet. (My husband knows he is actually the best part of returning home, but having witnessing me fondling and hugging our toilet, he forgives my comment.) Please understand. I am not judging those who have a cultural preference for in-floor toilets where you squat and pray for a good aim. I am not judging those who are not used to having toilet paper available and handy, or for those who have never known the joys of being able to push a button or handle and have a reliable flush occur. I AM saying I missed those simple pleasures with an ache in my heart. It was a huge learning curve to remember to bring toilet paper to the restroom. It was an even bigger learning curve to remember to take it out of my pocket before assuming the position. (Once in the squat it became a logistics issue to get the toilet paper out without standing up and causing dribble-age.) Many of the females in my tour group developed a unique, almost yoga-like, contortion that allowed peeing without getting backsplash on our pants and shoes. It almost worked, and the giggles and moans shared between us was bonding.
Yep. The wonders of our good old toilets remain the best part of my day. Excuse me as I feel another porcelain hug coming on.
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