Me: What? That little croissant you brought back from breakfast? I don’t think so.
Mary: No, the bidet. In the bathroom.
Me: You mean the urinal?
Mary explains that the back-up toilet in our hotel room isn’t a back-up toilet at all; it’s a specialized device that’s apparently supposed to be used only for cleaning your… ummmm… whisker biscuit (woman), Russell The One-Eyed Wonder Muscle (man) or Stink Tube (woman or man).
Like most Americans, I’m completely flummoxed by the whole idea of bidets. "Why can foreigners just use toilet paper like God meant for them to?” I ask Mary.
She explains it like this: “Imagine you’re traveling overseas, and you check into a hotel. When you get to your room, you come to find out that you don't have a shower or tub in your room. You look around the hallway, but there’s not one anywhere to be found. You ask at the desk about where you should take a shower, and the desk clerk explains that what you ought to do is just rub dry tissue paper all over your body. That is the very best way of getting clean.”
Me: So let me get this straight... you want me to sit on this one, then sit on that one?
Mary: Yes, to wash yourself.
Me: You’re sure about this?
Mary: Yes I’m sure.
Me: Well, that airplane meal is coming in for a landing, so I'll let you know in a few minutes.
