Anyway, looking for stuff for our soon to be new bathroom in our soon to be new apartment, Lisa and I found ourselves in the aisle that was also home to a few dozen styles of toilet seats. White ones, green ones, even toilet seats with a huge, fancy decal that made it look like wood. The glossy, candy-like appearance we all hope for so we can pretend we're doing something else in the bathroom while we're taking a shit. Anyway, all the toilet seats (and their respective toilet seat covers connected by the double, back hinges) were hanging, quite vertically, on the aisle walls. Upon seeing this, I began thinking about something. When you see a shirt in a store that you're interested in, you try it on. When you see a pair of shoes, you try those on. Heck, if you even see a flavor of ice cream that looks even remotely interesting, out comes the taster-spoon. "Why should toilet-seats be excluded," I asked myself. The display toilet seats were, unfortunately, fastened to whatever parts of the aisle wall, making them irremovable. That just wouldn't do. I mean, if I wanted to try out these seats, these holy chairs, these thrones, I'd have to bend over, quite far over actually, and then cautiously back up until my gluteus maximus made contact with a semi-circular, open bottomed, seat of temporary comfort and relief. So that's what I did. In the middle of Target, a place frequented by both the young and the elderly, I, Benjamin, bend over and backed my ass into a perpendicularly suspended toilet seat. I even lifted the lid which, after I backed into the seat and let go, rested on the small of my back with the assistance of Mr. Gravity. To fully try and realize the relaxing potential of having this underneath my bare bottom while I tried to think about something other than the waste production at hand, I pretended to read a newspaper. I even shouted out to Lisa, not more than ten steps away from me, if we had any magazines. The beauty of it all, when Lisa turned to see what I was doing, instead of getting upset, she giggled and then, a short while after what I'm about to tell you happened, she even tried it herself (G-d I love that woman). While I was wedged against the wall-esque toilet receptacle covering, faux reading my faux newspaper in my faux new bathroom pitched forward a sharp ninety degrees, a Target employee walked by and saw me. He didn't stop, nor did he take his eyes off me. And as he stared I stared right back, trying my best to give him an expression that simply said, "Excuse me. Occupied." He must have gotten it because just before he passed out of view, he started laughing... And here endeth the lesson. What haveth we learned, um, eth? We've learned that even though Target might have what we need, it's still evil and that while defecating on it might be illegal, pretending to do so is not only funny, but welcomed.
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