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This weekend  I treated myself to some alone time and went to a casual, pub-like restaurant at a luxury resort hotel.  A real treat: spacious 6-top maroon leather booths set for four; weighty, crisp, white linens; heavy, silver tableware, and portraits on the walls of this famous hotel family.

 Kevin-who’ll-be-my-server-today,  showed me to one of those booths, took my coat and bags, (I had stopped at the mall), shared the specials with me, and on his recommendation, I had Crab Louis – a wonderful lunch I dawdled over, with a nice white wine, and a newly purchased murder mystery.

Kevin checked on me,  served me, poured me, asked me, advised me, cleared me, took my money, while I fantasized that if he were in my employ, I’d probably hire him as the pool boy – but then reality arrived.

The Ladies’ room  was just as elegant as the restaurant – dark, paneled wood, marble sinks, lots of tile, floor to ceiling doors, with stalls the size of walk-in closets. 

There’s nothing worse  than a warm public toilet seat – but this seat wasn’t just warm – it was toasty.  It’s been about 30 Deg’s F  here all week, so a warm seat was welcome. 

A HOT seat  got worrisome, when I realized that my cheeks weren’t the only things getting the attention. 

Maybe this bowl  was like a bidet ‘cause I could swear the heat was coming from the water directly under my “naughty-bit/s.”  A public sitz bath perhaps?

I was up and flushing  when I realized the handle was warm and the tank was hot.  But, I was fine – not poached, steamed, or roasted. 

I stood there bewildered, almost giggling and looking around for the hidden cameras.  I checked the other stalls – those toilets were cold.   Mixed up pipes?   Talk about incredulous – this was something out of a Laurel and Hardy janitor movie. 

Where was that server  when I needed him; you’d think after 2 hours we’d have some telepathy going.  But no – just like every other man when there’s a plumbing problem – he’s probably off helping a friend move.  

I finally found Kevin  and told him about my experience on the throne.  He asked if the toilet was leaking – completely ignoring the hot water topic. From the look on his face, I knew he didn’t believe a word I said.  Who would – this is the stuff cartoons are made of. 

I asked to speak to a manager  – maybe a female and Kev was glad to desert me and run off to find help. 

Dragging her  into the restroom, then the stall, I had to insist that she feel the tank – yet, you could see the steam rising from the bowl.   

I left her  shaking her head and with a death grip on her clipboard.  

I left chuckling, wondering how Kevin would look working in a sewer! 

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