The Gents

After switching on the light, I enter the bathroom from hell. I am immediately assaulted by the colour pink, which has seemingly infiltrated every stuffed animal, bar of soap and useless trinket crowding the window sill and bath tub – also both pink. The frayed, stain coloured carpet matches the gross wallpaper and I think I’m going to be sick. I advance on the toilet whose seat I notice is covered by a crocheted woolen seat cosy that once might have been pink. I wonder whether ‘seat cosy’ is in fact the correct term for this artifact and also play with the terms ‘seat warmer’ and even ‘bum cosy’ in my head, before sitting down. From my compromising position I notice a sign above the toilet that says ‘If you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie and wipe the seatie.’ I cringe, first at the maniacal rhyme of ‘sweetie’ and ‘seatie’ and then at the prospect of urine, spattered and misplaced, somewhere in the bum cosy beneath me. I shudder and flush. No matter how much pearlescent pink liquid soap I use, I can’t get my hands clean again.