An open letter to my toilet

Dear downstairs toilet,

I feel I owe you an apology. When you were installed last year, I think I made some promises that I have failed to keep. You were spotless — your porcelain a cool, inviting white. I loved how you looked in my newly renovated bathroom, and I thought to myself, then and there, "I will clean you every week, without fail. You will always be this lovely, gleaming white."

I lied. That didn't happen. It didn't even come close. Heck, I didn't even use a disposable wipe on you once a week. The thing is, I rarely use you, and . . . out of sight, out of mind. I turned cleaning over to the boy who uses you the most for a while, but his cleaning skills are not fully developed, so that wasn't the best plan. And then things really took a turn: We welcomed a black dog into our home, and while I am certain he has never used you, his hair tends to collect all over you.

I'd like to do right by you, toilet. I'd like to give you the shining that you deserve every week — not just when we have company coming. But something huge is getting in the way: I hate to clean.

Cleaning is not fun. It does not come naturally to me, and it tends to take me much longer than the average person. I've tried many thing to make it seem more fun, or at least easier to swallow. I have:

• Tried pretending that I was actually Cinderella. No prince showed up to rescue me, and this idea was quickly abandoned.

• Listened to MPR on the iPod, but I always ended up sitting down, lost in the stories, before the bathroom, you included, was cleaned. What can I say? My mind floats.

• Considered making a deal with myself: No working out when the bathrooms are gross. But the risk of me abandoning exercise was just too great.

• Tried cleaning every single Saturday for a month. This one actually worked. You didn't get nearly so awful, and my cleaning time was cut down simply because you and your friends weren't so dirty. Of course, eventually someone planned something on a Saturday and the pattern broke. Another plan failed.

I have a new plan though, toilet. Tonight, I just happened to enjoy a champaign glass filled with sparkling grape juice while scrubbing your old friend, the upstairs sink. And I was struck with brilliance. Cleaning could become something wonderful if I just enjoyed a glass of champaign while doing it. It is impossible not to smile while drinking champaign. Time to buy some of those mini bottles.

I cannot wait to toast you, my friend. But I just cleaned you, so it will be at least a week.

Kind regards,
Julie

See, toilet, we do spend time together.
(Thanks to my photographer, Noah.)