Piss on the seat – not just a man’s issue

If you thought that the struggle for female equality was but a dribble of piss smeared across the bacteria-ridden seat of intrinsic male domination, then think again. For we, sisters, can stand shoulder to shoulder with our male comrades on one specific issue. Yes, I am talking about piss on the seat.

How even the most numb-arsed of idiots out there manages to ignore the backsplash of piss coating the back of her thighs as she liberally sprays the toilet seat with urine is beyond me. But, spray it they do. And in huge numbers, not to mention huge volumes.

I mean, how does a photo like the one above actually happen (I took it, in a pub in Camden, by the by). Did she accidently piss through a colander? Did she forget to take off her lace underwear? Did she sneeze halfway through?

More times than I care to mention I have been confronted with this kind of Pollock-esque canvas of another woman’s piss when entering the confines of a public cubicle. The yellow puddles of someone else’s digestive waste sitting there, like limp pools of selfish hatred.

Usually I deal with the situation with little more than a resigned sigh and a fist of toilet paper. Perhaps an occasional retch at the idea that even now I am inhaling microbes of digestive waste, splashed from someone’s urinary tract onto my latest resting place. But usually I manage to keep my cool.

Until, that is, something like this happens:

Yes, you’re right. That is indeed someone else’s piss and pubic hair. On the seat. Not wiped off. Not cleaned up. Not even apologised for as they walked out to wash their hands. Just left there, like the most vomit-inducing calling card you’ve ever had the misfortune to be handed.

Now, I know what you’ll say. All you pissy-knickered vandals out there. You’ll say that you don’t want to sit on the seat because it’s “unhygienic”. You’ll say you have to hover above the actual toilet like a urine-dispensing helicopter because public loos are “dirty”.

Well, excuse me, Ms Splatterpants, but if they are dirty, is it because people like you make them so. You with your poor aerial aim and woeful pelvic floor muscles. You and your squatting silliness.

Call me old fashioned, but surely if we all simply sat on the toilet seat during these interludes, and gave oh, I don’t know, fourteen brain cells’ worth of attention to the task at hand, we could rectify this whole phenomenon.

So, hover ye not, as the great book says (or nearly). Seat others as ye would wish to be seated. And if, by some terrible mishap, you end up going a little hose-like on your surroundings, then for the love of wet wipes clean up after yourself.

MILITANT FAWCETT