Warning: This post includes poop talk.

Prior to deciding I would quit my job, we remodeled part of our house. For the master bathroom, we purchased a Toto toilet.

I had never heard of the Toto brand before. I was happily browsing the likes of American Standard and the Home Depot brand.

But then I had three different people, including our contractor and architect, recommend we get a Toto. They all repeatedly sang its praises in terms of design and quality.

So, being the easily-influenced person that I am, I started to want a Toto. I researched prices. On the high end, there are models that are $5,000+. If you have that much money to spend on a crapper, well, I won’t waste my time berating you because you sure as shit (pun!) aren’t reading this blog.

But on the very lowest end, I found a model that – if purchased from a wholesaler online – was twice the price of our other toilet. For the master bath – my first ever ‘master bath’ – I convinced myself it was worth the splurge. Part of my deluded logic was that I will likely live in this house when I turn 40 in a few years. And damnit, I deserve a nice toilet when I’m 40.

So I bought it.

After months of use, it pains me greatly to report that this toilet is by far the poorest functioning toilet in the house.

How so, you ask?

The toilet does not flush down all of the contents of the bowl. Remnants, shall we say, are left behind.

So several times a week, I stick my hand into that expensive Toto toilet, and wipe away fecal matter.

That’s right. I paid top dollar to manually wipe stool out of my toilet.

Is it my poop? My husband’s? Or maybe the guy who was here fixing the shower? (I’m pretty sure this happened once, and the memory still haunts me.) I don’t know! That’s part of the fun!

On many levels, THIS HORRIFIES ME.

There is the obvious poop-wiping part. I don’t think I need to explain why this is horrendous.

But now that we are pinching every penny, triple-thinking every purchase – the fact that I paid MORE for this toilet than my perfectly-functional, regularly-priced toilet makes me ill.

Pretty on the outside. Where dreams go to die on the inside.

I have a feeling this may be why it was the cheapest model. It would’ve been nice if they at least sold it with a pair of rubber gloves.

The moral of the story? When it comes to the place you poop, focus on the flush, not the design. I lost sight of this, and was hellbent on getting a sleek modern toilet that would feel like a throne on my aging buttocks.

My husband, damn him, said it best early on when advising me to buy the Home Depot brand instead, “It’s just a toilet, Amy.”

Right. I get that now.