All Water Is Not The Same

I had finished brushing and was moving on to step two in my oral ablutions. The floss, in its nearly new plastic dispenser, was in its usual place, a small basket at the extreme right side of the medicine cabinet. When I opened the mirrored door I saw that it had migrated, as it occasionally does, to near the bottom of the collection of small items that share the basket, making it a little tricky to get a good grasp on. As I tugged it out from its surroundings, with fingers grown clumsy with age, I dropped it. Onto the counter top it fell, dribbled off the end, careened off the toilet tank and landed in the water waiting, exposed below. Did I say it was nearly new? It wasn’t easy consigning 39 yards of perfectly good plastic ribbon to the trash, but there’s water, and then there’s water. If I hadn’t, there’d be no more kissing for me – ever.

That, dear children, is why the toilet seat has a lid.