Denver and I recently had an unfortunate incident involving a bidet.
Some friends of ours let us use their amazing beach house for one “last hurrah” before school started.
It had an amazing view of the ocean and the marsh. Hands-down, it was the best vacation we have ever had as a family.
We lounged, fished, surfed, and even went paddle boarding.
Autumn caught a 14 inch flounder, that for a brief second I thought was an alligator!
But, I think every body of water has an alligator in it.
The beach house itself was spectacular. Beautiful doesn’t begin to describe it.
The kids made every attempt to sleep in every bed and shower in every bathroom.
I am pretty sure the only place they didn’t sleep was on the deck!
The master bathroom was something to behold – gorgeous, gorgeous. Big tub, big shower, perfect.
It also had one thing in it that I am willing to say, not only had the kids not seen, but I had never seen in person.
Denver and I were in the bathroom and he said he had to go.
The potty was in it’s own little closet, so Denver opened the door and there it was ... the bidet.
He asked me what it was and I told him it was a potty for boys.
I really, really thought that’s what it was.
Denver closed the door, and no less than two minutes later he opened the door crying, covered in water.
In his attempt to flush the “boy potty” he accidently squirted water up his nose and all over his shirt.
He was crying because he thought he broke it and would be in trouble. Instead, he found his mother unable to help him dry off because I was laughing to hard to help anyone do anything!
A couple of days later, we had some friends over to have dinner and enjoy the glorious view.
As I was giving my friend Jessica a mini tour of the bathroom, I showed her the bidet, again still thinking it was just a boy potty.
She asked me how it worked, so I lean over to show her how to flush it, and instead cleaned out my sinuses and gave my eyeballs a good rinse.
Yep, I completely reenacted what Denver did! Sadly, not on purpose.
When I went back out to join the rest of the party with damp hair, telling everyone how I got “boy potty” water on my face.
And wondering out loud why in the world water would need to reach such heights, they all began laughing telling me it was not a “boy potty” but no one would tell what it was really for except my beloved friend Sarah.
She has spent significant amount of time in Europe, and in her dependable Sarah way, she told me.
And if you think for one second I am going to tell you, you’re wrong. I have one word for you if you don’t know what a bidet is: Google.
But I will tell you what I did learn (besides what a bidet is.)
Never lean over something unless you know what it is, and what it is used for.
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