Our love toilet broke

This Valentine's, I have one sound piece of advice: Don't go out and buy a toilet. 

Better yet, don't go out and buy a cheap toilet. 

It's a bad idea, probably in more ways than one. 

Yes, it could be an indication that Valentine's Day is not quite the special day it once was in your relationship. To be clear, it wasn't our intention to buy a toilet on Valentine's. It just happened to be that we were out and about that night. We had the romantic dinner, now it was time to tend to practical matters (or maybe there was no romantic dinner). 

In any case, we needed a toilet. Ours was having some major issues. It required a good three flushes to get things down, and when it's your ensuite bathroom, it becomes mission critical. 

The woman at Home Depot was more than helpful. She wasn't enjoying a romantic dinner either, which made us feel better. She sold us a cheap toilet for a good price... too good a price. 

The problem with cheap toilets, I learned later, is that they're defective. Or they can be. Or they will be. Over time, you see, the defect becomes more and more pronounced. 

It's like in any relationship – our defects become more pronounced over time. The way we load the dishwasher or don't load the dishwasher. The way we don’t hang up the tea towel the proper way. They way we nag. Okay, the way I nag. 

Don't be fooled into thinking it's always the wife that nags. Husbands do it, too. I have a long history of nagging, so much so that I wonder how she still lives with me. It's usually the small things that bug me most, which is completely the wrong message I should be sending my daughter. There's a book called, "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff," which I should really read. It could help me immensely. 

It may help me from yelling, "Dishwasher!" every time my wife tries to wash a glass or plate by hand. I know! Terrible! Why on earth would you waste your time washing a dish when the dishwasher is patiently waiting to take it off your hands?!  

Then there are the times when I cook, which I confess, are few and far between. But Sunday lunch is typically my responsibility and so I cook what I know: eggs and bacon. Now you wouldn't think this should cause much stress, but my family knows to leave me alone when I'm cooking in the kitchen. If the eggs don't finish at the exact time the toast pops out of the toaster, my life is over. And flipping the eggs... Oh my goodness, I never thought flipping fried eggs could be so difficult. But there's rarely a time I flip them without the yoke gushing out of at least one of them. 

"I'll eat that one," my wife says lovingly, as I chuck it in the garbage.  

Sometimes I wonder how I became this way. Then I go home and spend some time with my parents. I don't want to pick on them, but soon the whole genetic inheritance thing becomes quite clear. I should also mention they've developed means to deal with their foibles like laughing at oneself and not taking oneself so seriously. I'm not at that stage yet. 

My point is (there may actually be one... I'm thinking...), you can't solve all your personal problems by being in a relationship. 

And for goodness sake, don't buy a love toilet this Valentine's.