Eric Schlehlein, Author

There’s a custom in America, and I suspect a few other countries, to place useful things on a useful space in a useful room and then to issue an edict throughout the house, stating that such things are hereby off-limits, rendering those things useless.

The custom of placing decorative towels on a hook or a rack or upon a shelf next to the dried flowers or above the wicker basket that holds the decorative soaps that we are not allowed to use has been going on for at least three generations, testing the self-discipline of children — and grown men — since the end of the depression.  

Look, but don’t touch… and by God, keep your damn hands off my flower, too.

In my house, such towels often become the magnet for the toothpaste left over after tooth-brushing regimens, the streaks of white or blue evidencing the failed self-discipline of a teenager living under this roof.  I, as a grown man, would certainly never do such a thing.  I always wait until three or nine months of dust has accumulated on my decorative towels before deciding to wash them.  I wouldn’t even think of forcing the issue by wiping the corner of my mouth with one of them.

I’m thinking of installing a second toilet in my bathroom.  It’ll be right along side the other one, but I’ll put a pretty purple bow upon it and then I’ll issue a new house rule:

“No pooping in the decorative toilet.”  

I mean, really… look how beautiful it is.

Photo courtesy of Bestdesignersresources.com