Opinion: Scary trips to the devil’s commode


It’s official. Our master bathroom toilet has become a portal to hell. And I’m not just saying this because the bottom is stained and partially corroded by hard water, impervious to scrubbing, Cloroxing and even CLR-ing. Nor is this charge the result of post-Doo-use brimstone stench, which luckily “Poo-Pourri” and Lysol handle quite nicely.

No, our commode is a gateway to Hades thanks to a motion-activated nightlight that makes the water emanate an eerie green glow. Courtesy of Doo’s co-workers who thought it’d make a hilarious birthday gift, I now face the prospect of evil incarnate at every 2 a.m. lavatory visit.

And the experience is rather disturbing, actually, because each time the toilet “turns on,” it’s as if Satan himself is rising from the depths. So, there I sit, illuminated in all my natural glory, thinking, “If the girl from the Ring tries to crawl out of here, I’m done.”

One positive effect, though, has been the reduction of midnight mishaps, like tripping over shoes and running into walls. Before the highway to hell light, navigating my way to the pot meant carefully placed footsteps and arms held out straight. But now that the devil can sense my presence as soon as I cross the threshold, all I have to do is follow the beautiful, alluring luminosity of my porcelain throne.

Anyhoo, I guess the point is, if something odd or terrible should happen to me, check our master bathroom first. I mean, if the Amityville Horror family could have a well in their basement to welcome Beelzebub, it just seems fitting that we Wilsons would have a john.

Peace out.