The sunny days and warm temperatures in California have faked Mom and Dad into believing that springtime is upon us. Faking them out takes surprisingly little effort, as readers of this blog are well aware. So, this ersatz spring has caused them to spring into action with their annual housecleaning and inventory of required projects, while I am still justifiably lying around in my wintery soporific stupor.
Yesterday, as part of our annual household updating, our new toilets were delivered. Dad wanted to have these ‘super bowls’ in time for todays Superbowl. Why? I long ago gave up trying to figure out how his mind – or what passes as a mind – functions. He is a conundrum wrapped inside a puzzle wrapped in two strips of bacon..mmm, bacon..but I digress.
The toilets are a technological marvel. Each has so many bells and whistles, it would take a NASA engineer to figure them out. They come equipped with seat warmers, bidet, surround sound systems, seat belts, butt-vibration and various fragrance emitters. So, you can imagine my inept dad at the controls. The first sign of trouble was what sounded like a world-class waterfall in the bathroom, followed by Dad’s familiar blood curdling screams (which my sensitive ears could hear over the toilet speakers blaring Cat Stevens singing “I Can’t Keep It In”).
Obviously, Dad hadn’t realized that the bidet came with various levels of pressure. The factory setting was at the highest level (the one they call “Fire Hose”). So, when Dad sat down (naturally forgetting to engage his seat belt) and engaged the bidet, he was literally blown three feet in the air. The bidet’s auto-shut off kicked in, and Dad was unceremoniously dropped with great force back to the seat (I can’t believe they didn’t provide a parachute). He was so stunned that he couldn’t move, which was unfortunate because he had inadvertently adjusted the seat warmer to the “feel the burn” setting.
Things have calmed down now. The plumber and the paramedics have left the house, and Dad is settling down to watch the Broncos and Panthers. Of course, his burned and bruised derriere prevents him from watching in a sitting position. But the pain has not inhibited his Superbowl appetite, and he’s eating like there’s no tomorrow. And you know what that means…a trip very soon to the other super bowl. This will be a halftime show I don’t want to miss. Ah, the joys of false springtime.