Marital bliss.
Forget everything you’ve ever heard about “communication,” or “respect,” or “loving each other.” When it comes to marriage, the secret to success is [drumroll] separate toilets. Trust me, I know: I’ve been married for three months. Three magical months of matrimony with my lovely wife, who, for purposes of anonymity, shall be heretofore referred to as “Wife.” Anyway, Wife and I have worked out a fantastic system of bathroom-ing that has simultaneously maximized efficiency and streamlined t.p. distribution. And that system is this: GET THE [expletive deleted] OUT OF MY BATHROOM! You see, in this mutually beneficial system, Wife gets to take relaxing bubble baths and store beauty products in a massive cabinet, a.k.a. “The Hurt Locker,” while I get to take showers in a scum-covered linolium stall with zero ventilation and an overhead fan coil heater that could bake chocolate-chip muffins in about fifteen minutes. Then there’s the issue of toilet usage. Let’s see, how do I put this delicately? If Wife and I were professional bull riders, and our respective toilets were bulls, I would get way, way, way, way, way more endorsement deals. This is partially due to the fact that I’m a dude, and science tells us that dudes (D) spend more time (x) per toilet trip (y) than chicks (C) [graph not pictured], but mostly that I recently figured out how to turn my phone into a six-inch wall-mounted HD television by resting it on two light switches in the “ON” position. Sure, my legs go numb, but I want to keep pretending I’m a wealthy rapper who watches Sportscenter on the john!
Nailsbails 