See? Up...
There it was again. The toilet seat up. Even after I’d asked him, ever so politely, to please put it down. Even after I’d fallen into the cold bowl when I stumbled in there in the middle of the night. There it was, up again. I felt my blood starting to boil, and - quite suddenly - it hit me. This just simply wasn’t something I needed to get my way about. What was I, unable to put the seat down? Broken arm? Too dumb to work the hinge? So much of a baby that I had to insist he ready the pot for me each time he used it? Nope. None of those applied to me, so I made a conscious decision to never mention it again.
That was about seven years ago, and, in the ensuing years, there have been several other “sacred cows” that have been sacrificed on the altar of marital harmony. My husband is a wonderful man, and if he leaves every toilet seat up in every house we are ever in together, he will still be wonderful. What a difference it made when I decided to put him ahead of myself in this area. I wonder what else I will get to give up in the future…
