Unanswered Questions

Saturday night I attended a company holiday party with my friend from Atlanta, Mike Thompson, VP of an IT company HQ’d in Denver. Several of the VP’s live out-of-state and flew in for this big event and Mike invited me to join the evening. The party was at some ritzy house in Castle Rock; one of those places where you wondered if you were in the home of an heir to the Vanderbilt fortune? It was a gorgeous place decorated in modern art deco; a design aesthetic that embraced clean lines and classic principles. Party “staff” refilled my wine glass and took away my used plate as a pianist played lovely classical melodies in the background. I continued to tease Mike that I would no doubt embarrass him at some point in the evening. “You can’t bring a girl from the ghetto to a place like this!”, I would whisper to him as he laughed.

At some point during the evening, I discreetly made my way to the bathroom. Upon arrival I stood stone-faced, horrified by the sight before me. There it was. Next to the toilet.

A bidet.

Oh Lord… what to do?… To bidet or not to bidet? Now that is the question. It was a holiday party but this had nothing to do with the holidays and it’s not a question that spreads good will and cheer, but it’s one that lingers and burns. I stood there motionless, staring with an intense and curious gaze similar to when one first sees a platypus. WHAT is THAT?

Like an airplane phobic who doesn’t fly, I have never used the thing. I disliked even looking at it. I have no idea why. It’s not as if I’d suffered bidet trauma. It’s just so foreign to me. So… French (no offense to the baguette, brie and Givenchy). But I’m Italian. We eat meatballs. We bury money. We kill people. That’s what we do. We don’t clean our asses by way of a spicket. (Perhaps we should!)

I thought I would have my hands full with the evening itself. I can typically handle myself in just about any situation; the social elite usually don’t throw my game beyond recovery, but these were important work colleagues to Mike. I wanted to make a good impression on his behalf. … But bidet boot camp seemed like more than I could handle. How would I do it? What would I tell them? I didn’t know the first thing about bidet usage.

For starters, did you straddle it, ride sidesaddle, or — in the delightful words of rapper Juvenile — “Back that ass up?” ??

Does one plant oneself in the bowl or simply hover? Did men use it differently than women? And at what age does one start bideting?

I was at a total loss. I grabbed my phone from my purse and made an effort for guidance. My personal 911 for any situation. I attempted to call JZ and Mark for the step-by-step playbook for this situation. They would get me through it. Aaakkkkkkkk!!! There was no cell coverage from the mansion-on-the-mountain bathroom. I panicked, ashamed at my ignorance and bolted out of there like I stole something.

Oh wait, this story gets better.

I quickly scanned rooms in an effort to find Mike to tell him of my ordeal. Most women (with class) would have probably kept that private anxiety attack to themselves, but I am not such a woman. I like to reveal my inadequacies. Unfortunately the party hostess located me first. She noticed my anxiety and, unfortunately for me, misunderstood its root cause.

“I’m so sorry”, she anguished apologetically. “I ran out of towels earlier”.

“Excuse me?”, I asked, confused. There had been plenty of toilet paper.

This poor woman was genuinely upset. She looked at me with regret to say, “I’m sorry I didn’t have bidet towels.”

Bidet towels?????

“Oh, that’s ok”, I tried to comfort her, “I didn’t need them”. ?? What else do you say??

Not only did I have no intention of using the contraption, WHAT were bidet towels???? Was there some type of new-age sanitary concept about which I had not been made aware? I mean, I realize I now live in BOULDER where everything is organic and green and environment-conscious. But you used TOWELS for the thing?? Where would you put the towels after use?? I was not used to discussing toilets and wiping and compost, or anything else related to the ass, when visiting a mansion but apparently tonight was my night. (Note the disclaimer: I don’t discuss these things “when in a mansion”…)

I didn’t know what the towels were but more to the point, the fact that she “ran out” alerted me that people had been bidet’ing all evening! This was even more frightening. No wonder people were having such a good time – the party started in the bathroom – LITERALLY!

I was marginally freaked out. What were the rules? More importantly, what was the appropriate thread count for a human genitalia towel? These were vital questions. Perhaps I will never know.

Here’s hoping your holidays were happy, and hygienic.

This entry was posted on Sunday, December 28th, 2008 at 8:05 PM and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.