I'm house/dog sitting this weekend for my best friend while she and her husband lounge in Hawaii (they're gone for a week and a half; I just have the weekend duty).
They did a major remodel on their house awhile back. One of the upgrades to the master bathroom was an $800 toilet. Frankly, this thing scares me.
For starters, this toilet knows when you're approaching, and it preheats the seat for you. I don't like the idea of being watched by a toilet, for one thing, and for another... a preheated seat just feels like Fat Uncle Earl has been sitting on it for half an hour.
So I sat down on this $800 throne and immediately, the bowl started making this "whirring" sound reminiscent of a blender, only not that loud. I never did figure out what that was. Maybe little tiny people were mixing drinks to celebrate my arrival.
On the wall next to the toilet is the control panel for all of its functions. The options include "rear wash," "front wash", "dry," and "deodorize." Rear wash has two power settings... gentle and jackhammer. Both rear and front wash spray jets can be moved forward or back (think of it as "aiming.") You can also set these to pulsate and/or oscillate.
Of course, I had to try them all. "Rear wash" aimed perfectly the first time. I tried the gentle setting first. The water is pre-warmed so as not to be shockingly cold. It's about the temperature of... fresh urine. I understand the reasoning for the oscillating spray jet, but I'm not sure why you would want the jets to pulsate. Butt massage?
Then I tried the "rear wash" jackhammer mode. Forget the Fleet enema, jackhammer mode will prep you perfectly for your next colonoscopy.
On to "front wash." It missed the target the first time, but at least my inner upper thighs got clean. The "aim" buttons have little digital diagrams to show you approximately where you're going to hit. This is when I got the giggles and said aloud, "Ready, aim.... FIRE!!" Damn, missed again. Oh well, bonus wash for the rear.
Kona, the dog, came in at this point to see if I was okay. I was sitting there with tears running down my face from laughing. She just stood there with her head cocked, staring at me. Of course, that just made me laugh harder.
Anyway, I finally got the aim just right. I washed, pulsated, and oscillated my "front." Then I hit the "dry" button. If you've ever been in a drive-through car wash when the gale-force winds whoosh over your car and dry it, you have an idea of what "dry" is like on this toilet. This is warm air, of course. I expected to hear a whistling sound when it got to my butt, like the sound you get when you blow into a coke bottle. I've never blow-dried my butt before. That was... interesting.
Well now that I was clean, prepped for colonoscopy, and dried, it occurred to me, I'd been so wrapped up in playing with the buttons that I had forgotten to do my business.
So I did my business, and of course had to go through the rinse cycle again. It occurs to me as I write this that I never did deodorize. Oh, the embarrassment! Thank goodness no one dropped by and asked to sniff my butt.
Even though I was clean and blown dry, I wiped with toilet paper. Habit, I suppose. Like wiping your hands on your jeans after using one of the dryers in a public restroom, even if they're dry.
Having had enough excitement for one evening, I got off the toilet. I expected it to flush itself, but it didn't. Heck, for $800, I expected it to flush itself and say, "Thank you, Kelly." I looked on the control panel for the "flush" button, but there wasn't one. This was a problem. I couldn't not flush the toilet, especially since I had gone #2. It's not polite to leave a turd for the homeowner to deal with. What was I supposed to do, leave them a note?
I looked everywhere for a "flush" button or handle, to no avail. I jumped up and down, waved my arms, danced all around the toilet trying to trigger some electronic eye, but all that happened was I scared the dog and she bolted out of the bathroom and hid under the bed.
I tried sitting back down, thinking maybe there was some sort of waiting period for it to flush or something. Nope. Dang. Nothing. Except my turd, of course. What to do... what to do (what to do with the doo-doo).
Finally, after about 10 minutes, I found it. The magic button. The "flush" button. That wonderful little button that saves you from the disgrace of leaving a turd for the homeowner. It was on the back of the tank. Of all the dumb places!!!!
Tonight, I'm using the guest bathroom.
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