Comfort Zone

I love my creature comforts. I run the air-conditioning constantly at seventy five degrees. When I buy shoes, I don't care if they are not stylish and I look like a dork. Comfort determines whether I buy the shoes or not. When I went to buy a recliner chair, Mark got pissed off because I wouldn't buy the one he wanted. As I moved from chair to chair in the showroom, assessing the compatibility of my ass and their chairs, Mark kept complaining because they weren't on sale. The problem is that what feels comfortable for Marks skinny little butt, in no way fills the bill for my big fat one.

One place where I don't require padding, is the toilet seat. A few years ago Mark bought a cushioned seat for the toilet in the bathroom off of the living room. I considered it to be creepy. The last thing I want is to relax like I'm sitting in an easy chair while crapping. So Mark got his cushioned toilet seat, and from then on that bathroom was for Mark only. I preferred the one in the bedroom, where I didn't sink in when I sat down. I'm sure if I had used the padded one, at some point I probably would have fallen asleep while reading National Geographic.

Now I don't know how Mark did it, but recently he broke his toilet seat. How a skinny little guy like him could crush a toilet seat is a mystery. He barely breaks a hundred pounds when wet. So I have replaced his toilet seat with a lovely new un-padded one, and it will have to do. I am also thinking of installing seat belts on it because the opening on the new one is a little larger than the old one, and I wouldn't want to lose him down the bowl.