AND SPEAKING OF JUDGES, THANK YOU TO:

First-round: Lois Gordon, Rich Helms
Final: Ruth Walker, Tim Bete

CONGRATULATIONS TO THE FINALISTS:

Carol Burnside
J. Graham Ducker
Lorraine Gordon
Bette Hodgins
Pauline Johnson
Kathleen Martin
Annette McLeod
Jacquelyn O’Brien
Suzanne Robinson

AND THE WINNERS ARE:

FIRST PLACE : Kathleen Martin

Bite the bullet hard
Get your teeth into its shell
I can’t. They’re soaking

SECOND PLACE: Pauline Johnson

Teenage angst appears
She wants to be different
Just like all her peers

THIRD PLACE: Carol Burnside

I promised her that
I would never repeat this
so you can’t either

HONOURABLE MENTION: Graham Ducker

If I discover
where I am supposed to be,
I’ll probably move.

Stay tuned for the next Writing Fairy contest.

Each senryu poem was printed onto a separate piece of paper with a number only, so the judging was blind. The words – and syllables – had to stand on their own.

It was a tough job, but we narrowed down the list to 10 senryu entries.

The finalists are, in alphabetical order by last name:

Carol Burnside
J. Graham Ducker
Lorraine Gordon
Bette Hodgins
Pauline Johnson
Kathleen Martin
Annette McLeod
Jacquelyn O’Brien
Suzanne Robinson

NOTICE THERE ARE ONLY NINE NAMES?

YUP – Someone has TWO entries in the top 10! That’s the way the senryu crumbles.

The top 10 entries are winging their way to our final judges.

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO ENTERED, AND GOOD LUCK TO OUR FINALISTS.

The Writing Fairy
www.thewritingfairy.com

For my third Writing Fairy Humour-Writing Contest, I’m exploringe something a little different. THIS TIME, your challenge is to write a senryu – the Japanese term for a humorous poem that is similar to haiku, but rather than being focused on nature, showcases human nature – often involving irony or satire.

Write a poem of 17 syllables in total, formatted in three lines:
5 syllables
7 syllables
5 syllables

Here are some senryu examples:

Seventeen seems long
Until you try to enter
Then it is too short

Fairies light and lithe
Populate my dreams at night
Where the hell’s Tom Cruise?

Children are so cute
Make our memories complete
Do they ever leave?

Words come quick and fun
Crossword puzzle lures me in
Takes over my life

Writing is my thing
Keeps me busy day and night
Sheesh, my right hand hurts

REMEMBER:
The nature of haiku is nature.
The nature of senryu is human nature.
This is NOT haiku or senryu

WHAT’S IN IT FOR YOU?

The opportunity to become an award-winning, published poet
The opportunity to win cash prizes
$100 First Place, $50 Second Place, $25 Third Place

Click for complete Rules and Regulations

Ruth especially enjoys working with new and developing writers of all ages. Since 2002, she has facilitated an ongoing writers’ workshop for the Oshawa Senior Citizen’s Centre. In 2007, Ruth was named one of four artists in residence to the Durham District School Board. She is working on pilot project with Durham Alternative Secondary School (DASS) funded by the Ontario Arts Council. An ArtsSmarts participant in 2006/07, Ruth worked with two Grade 11/12 English classes at DASS on a collaborative art and poetry project. Inside Out Minds was published spring 2007, anthologizing students’ poetry and artwork, and was selected for display at the National ArtsSmarts Exhibition in P.E.I..

Selected publications include: Contemporary Verse 2, River King Poetry Supplement (US), Rain Dog (UK) Canadian Children’s Literature, Canadian Architecture and Design, Canadian Living, The Toronto Sun, New Brunswick Telegraph-Journal, Oshawa/Whitby This Week; online at UBC’s Terry and Creative Science Journal, Words on Paper, and Regina Weese; several poetry and fiction anthologies; and one-act plays produced at Whitby Courthouse Theatre and StoneCircle Theatre, Ajax.

Ruth won the 1996 Canadian Living Short Story prize; the 1998 & 2005 Dan Sullivan Memorial Poetry Contest; 1999 semi-finalist Chapters-Robertson Davies Competition; 2001 winner Ghost Story Contest, Trent University Writers and Readers Fair; 2003 2nd place Larry Turner Award for Non-fiction; 2007 two entries tied for 2nd place in The Writers’ Circle of Durham Region Short Story Contest.

A founding editor for LICHEN Arts & Letters Preview, Ruth is a past president of The Writers’ Circle of Durham Region and helped to found Words in Whitby, an annual reading series. Married and the mother of four, Ruth writes and lives in Whitby, Ontario.

Tim Bete
Tim Bete (pronounced “beet”) is a former newspaper columnist and author of two books, In The Beginning…There Were No Diapers (2005, Sorin Books) and Guide to Pirate Parenting (2007, Cold Tree Press).

Tim’s parenting advice has been published in dozens of newspapers, magazines and Web sites, including The Christian Science Monitor, Atlanta Parent, Big Apple Parent, Northwest Family, FathersWorld.com and ParentingHumor.com.

He is married with four children and has 19 combined years as a dad — 133 in dog years — which makes him an expert at answering the questions, “Are we there yet?” “Why?” and “What’s that smell?”

Formerly the editor of Early Childhood News magazine, Tim has written advertising copy for General Mills, IBM, Rayovac and Worldbook. He is currently the director of the University of Dayton’s Erma Bombeck Writers’ Workshop.

Tim’s hobbies include pushing his luck, skating on thin ice and fishing his kids’ toys out of the toilet.

1. This contest is open to writers 18 years of age and older.
2. Prizes (in Canadian funds) will be awarded as follows:
   First Place: $100.00
   Second Place: $50.00
   Third Place: $25.00
3. Entries (in English only) must be your original, unpublished writing that has not been submitted elsewhere for publication or to any other writing competitions simultaneously.
4. Send your entries in the body of an email to fairy@thewritingfairy.com
5. Entries MUST adhere to the rules of THREE LINES: FIVE syllables on the first line, SEVEN syllables on the second line, FIVE syllables on the third line.
6. The deadline for submissions is 11:59 p.m. EST, Monday, September 15, 2008.
7. Entrants must agree that if they win, they will permit non-exclusive rights to publish their winning entries on The Writing Fairy website at www.thewritingfairy.com.
8. The entry fee PER POEM is $5 Canadian, or send THREE SENRYU POEMS FOR $10, to be paid in one of two ways:
• PayPal
• via Canadian Money Order or cheque
• via International Money Order payable in Canadian Funds

Make cheque/money order out to “THE WRITING FAIRY”
Mail to:
Dorothea Helms, S10895 Sideroad 17 RR #1, Sunderland, ON L0C 1H0
Canada

REMEMBER – send $5.00 for EACH POEM, or send THREE POEMS for $10.00.

9. First-round judges will narrow the entries to 10 Finalists, which will be sent to the Final Judges.
10. Winners will be contacted by phone and mail. Their names will be officially announced on Saturday, October 11, 2008 on The Writing Fairy website.
11. KEEP A COPY OF YOUR ENTRY! NONE OF THE ENTRIES WILL BE RETURNED. Once judging is over and the winners announced, entries will be destroyed. Decisions of the judges are final.

HERE’S A TIP ON HOW TO WIN – FOLLOW THE RULES!

In my previous contest, which required people to record their submissions, the maximum time limit was 3 minutes. We received many entries that were 10 and 11 minutes long. Needless to say, they were eliminated.

REMEMBER – FOR THIS CONTEST, it’s writing only and the length is EXACTLY 17 syllables in total: 5 syllables in the first line, 7 syllables in the second line, 5 syllables in the third line.

If you don’t know what a syllable is, look it up.

CONGRATULATIONS WINNERS!

FIRST PLACE went to Lois Gordon for her entry entitled “Sex Drive.” ($500 prize)

SECOND PLACE went to Valerie Mutton for her “Queen of Clean” submission. ($250 prize)

THIRD PLACE was claimed by the writing team of Shirley Neal and Bill Rundle for “The Bare Essentials.” ($125 prize)

My compliments as well to everyone who entered, and to all the Finalists.

Following is the list of the writers of the 10 Finalist entries:

Lois Gordon (TWO of her entries made it into the final 10!)
Valerie Mutton
Shirley Neal and Bill Rundle (team entry)
James Dewar and Susan Lynn Reynolds (team entry)
Dave Jones
Dale Long
June Duffy-Smith
Carl Bedal
Berenice Freedome

WATCH FOR THE NEXT Writing Fairy^® Sort-of-Annual Humour-Writing Contest coming soon …

Roger Ashby visited a radio station when he was 10, decided to become a radio personality, and has never looked back. He came home that day emblazoned with such a passion for the idea, that his dad built him a mock radio station in their Waterloo home. “Dad hooked up everything so I could broadcast into the living room, and I did that for seven years,” says Ashby. “I’m convinced that experience paid off.”

It paid off for him personally, and for CHUM FM. The station’s morning show, Roger Rick & Marilyn, dominates radio tuning during the morning drive period. Together on air since 1986, this dynamic trio has won numerous awards and consistently pumps out the top-rated morning radio program in Canada.

It also paid off for listeners, who have enjoyed Roger’s wacky sense of humor and comprehensive music knowledge since 1968: first on Hamilton’s CKOC; then on CHUM AM; and since 1985 on CHUM FM. For the past 21 years, Roger has been part of the charismatic team that gives Toronto area listeners an auditory wake-up call each day on CHUM FM’s award-winning Morning Show.

From the “Joke of the Day,” to “Fun Files,” fans immerse themselves in the hilarious camaraderie of the three friends. “Quite a bit of what we do is ad lib,” says Ashby, “but we have material written for us, too.” Whether they’re commuting to work, cooking breakfast, or pretending to be at home sick, listeners feel the on-air “magic” that Roger, Rick and Marilyn create, and think of them as family. “That family feeling is what we hope to achieve,” says Roger. “You don’t know that kind of chemistry is going to happen until it does.”

Roger’s home life exudes a magic of its own. He lives in a stately house in an older established Toronto area with his stunning wife, Moira. They have a 23-year-old son named Regan. Roger’s office houses his extensive music collection, plus some cherished memorabilia: a photo of Roger with Mick Jagger, a picture frame made from the original CHUM building tiles, and his many awards.

Despite Roger’s hectic schedule at the station, he still finds time to complete his duties as Honorary Chairman of the Big Brothers of Metro Toronto, and the family enjoys a cottage throughout the year. Roger Ashby is living his dream, both at work and at home.

Erin has been a fixture on the Canadian radio landscape for over 25 years. Her celebrated return to 98.1 CHFI in September of 2005 is the latest stop on a fascinating journey, which has seen her at or near the top of the radio ratings for her entire career.

Until the spring of 2003, Erin co-hosted the morning show on 98.1 CHFI for nearly 15 years – first with Don Daynard and, later, with Bob Magee. The show reached number one shortly after her arrival in 1988 and CHFI enjoyed enormous ratings until June of 2003 when a station decision forced Erin to leave her radio home.

That summer, the W Network called and offered her the opportunity to host her own live national television talk show. “W Live with Erin Davis,” a daily live hour-long national talk show, which featured guests and viewers discussing women’s lifestyle, health and wellness issues, hit the air that fall and lasted one year.

In the fall of 2004, Erin had the opportunity to meet and work with Mike Cooper, one of Canada’s best-known radio personalities, while she was temporarily filling in on 97.3 EZ Rock. Erin and Mike hit it off immediately and enjoyed great success together so, when CHFI asked Erin to come back in the fall of 2005, her new friend Mike was not far behind. Ratings rebounded and the station has returned to its number-one position. Erin and Mike look forward to many happy years together.

Erin was honoured to be named 2006 Woman of the Year for the Greater Toronto Area after a public survey by the Consumers Choice Award. In 2002, she was named the year’s first Chatelaine Woman Of Influence. Erin appears regularly at various public events as both Emcee and Keynote Speaker. She is also an accomplished vocalist and fronted an oldies band for over 10 years.

Erin is a regular co-host on the Easter Seals Telethon on CBC television and is a supporter of North York General Hospital. She is active with the Canadian Women’s Foundation, the Canadian Breast Cancer Foundation and the Children’s Wish Foundation, for which she raised an astounding $160,000 in the summer of 1998, simply by shaving her head (thanks to the generosity of CHFI listeners). Erin has been saluted by the Empire Club, Variety Club and Toastmasters International for her public service work and is a recipient of the Paul Harris fellowship, a Rotary honour recognizing the highest public service.

Erin and Rob, her husband of 19 years, have a beautiful and funny 16-year-old daughter, Lauren, and live in Toronto with their two dogs, Pepper Jay and Molly Malone. Erin writes a daily Internet journal, available at www.erindavis.com.

1. This contest is open to writers and performers 18 years of age and older.
2. The competition is to write and perform something original that is intended to he heard on radio.
3. Your entry may take the form of a CD, cassette tape, or MP3 file. However you send in your entry, all pieces will be turned into MP3 files at our end for the judges to hear. Your piece will be judged on the quality of the writing and the performance – NOT how fancy your recording equipment is.
4. Prizes (in Canadian funds) will be awarded as follows:
   • First Place: $500.00
   • Second Place: $250.00
   • Third Place: $125.00
   • The judges reserve the right to name Honourable Mentions if appropriate. Each Honourable Mention entry will receive $50.00
   • ALL PRIZES WILL BE PAID IN CANADIAN FUNDS
5. Your entry may be by multiple writers and/or performers (so for example, could be a short play), BUT the prizes are awarded per entry. If a winning piece is created by three people, they will have to split the prize among themselves.
6. Entries (in English only) must be original, unpublished, never heard before on a broadcast, never before performed for an audience, not submitted elsewhere for publication or broadcast, and not submitted to any other writing competitions simultaneously. (This includes different versions of the same piece.)
7. EVERYTHING ON THE RECORDING YOU SEND MUST BE ORIGINAL! This means if you have background music, sound effects, etc., you must have either written and/or made the music and sounds yourself, or have copyright permission to use them. IN OTHER WORDS, YOU CANNOT use the theme to Bonanza, a track from a Beatles record or any other recording that is not yours to use legally.
8. Entries may be any style of humour: fiction, non-fiction, poetry, play, personal essay, song, script, etc. The main criteria are that your piece be well written, well delivered, and make the judges laugh when they hear it.
9. Entrants MUST complete the official online entry form at www.thewritingfairy.com, and indicate whether they will be submitting the entry by CD, cassette tape or MP3 file.
10. The REQUIRED BROADCAST TIME FOR THE ENTRY MUST BE BETWEEN 2 AND 3 minutes. Entries shorter than 2 minutes or longer than 3 minutes will be disqualified.
11. The deadline for submissions is 11:59 p.m. EST, Monday, February 4, 2008.
12. Entrants must agree that if they win, they will permit non-exclusive rights to publish their winning entries as audio performances on The Writing Fairy website at www.thewritingfairy.com, AND on any radio stations that choose to cover the contest.
13. The entry fee PER SUBMISSION is $10 Canadian, to be paid in one of two ways:
    • through PayPal when you complete your online submission
      OR
    • by mailing a CANADIAN MONEY ORDER or an INTERNATIONAL MONEY ORDER PAYABLE IN CANADIAN FUNDS made out to
      “THE WRITING FAIRY” to:

    Dorothea Helms
    S10895 Sideroad 17 RR #1
    Sunderland, ON L0C 1H0 Canada

    REMEMBER – send $10.00 for EACH SUBMISSION.

14. First-round judges will narrow the entries to 10 Finalists, which will be sent to the Final Judges: Roger Ashby, Erin Davis
15. Winners will be contacted by phone and mail. Their names will be officially announced on Saturday, April 12, 2008, at the Breakfast Meeting of The Writers’ Circle of Durham Region in Whitby, Ontario, Canada, and on The Writing Fairy website.
16. KEEP A COPY OF YOUR ENTRY! NONE OF THE ENTRIES WILL BE RETURNED. Once judging is over and the winners announced, entries will be destroyed.
17. Decisions of the judges are final.

18. The Writing Fairy reserves the right to cancel this contest if sufficient entries are not received to make it feasible, and that if it is cancelled, all entry fees will be refunded in full.

Congratulations to the winners whose writing rose to the top. We had nearly 200 entries, and there were 10 judges in total at the various judging levels. The writing had to have some sort of magic to make it all the way.

In fact, choosing the winners was difficult, as we had so many fabulous submissions. Thank you to all who entered. A special thanks to my husband, Rich, who did a spectacular job administering all the technical stuff that made this contest possible. HEDEMAN!

And thanks to all the judges who helped to narrow down the choices. Keep an eye on this website for the announcement of the 2007 contest. And keep laughing!

The Writing Fairy

First Place – Slave to the Box

Jason MacRae

I am a married man, thirty-two years old. On the surface, my life seems ordinary. But still waters run deep, and if one probes my murky depths, eventually they will discover my terrible secret: I have become a slave, a sex slave. One might ask: a sex slave to whom? Not to whom, I would counter, but to what? The answer: to a small, white plastic box. How, you’ll ask, does a small plastic box take control of an able-bodied man so completely that he would describe himself as being powerlessly owned by it? Allow me to explain.

Except during playoff hockey, the males of most species are motivated by two primal forces: the need for food, and the desire for congenial conjunction. The open-24-hours-a-day A&P two kilometers from my house fulfills my hunting instincts. That other primal drive is not so easily satisfied; I must rely on the kindness and the mood of my chosen mate, who happens to be a female. I cannot speculate on what that gender’s most primal drives might be, other than to suspect that they are more pragmatic than mine, except perhaps during sales at Ikea.

One day, three years after we were married, my mate came to me with a page that she had downloaded from eBay. On it was a picture of an innocuous white plastic box integrating an LCD display and a slot into which a white plastic stick, that looked to be of dental origin, could be inserted. This box, she explained, was a fertility monitor, and it would now be in command of the timing of our most intimate moments. In return, we wouldn’t have to play guessing games about when the best time for those moments were; the box would dispense with chance and serendipity. She also suggested our modus operandi in this department up to now – being: avoid success – had been abandoned; we were now trying to hit the target.

I had always assumed that plotting the most efficient schedule for procreation would involve a calendar and a bulging fist full of darts, but apparently technology had come to our rescue. Nevertheless, a bedside electronic box whose sexual commands could not be denied sounded like a good idea.

The first hint of the tyrannical nature of fealty to the box came at 6 a.m. the day after the box arrived. My wife runs a business from home, and while she has been known to work late, pre-dawn awakenings are practically unheard of. So why was her alarm bleating incessantly? Did the bell toll for me? Optimistically, I slung one arm into her territory and cast about, but there was no comfort for me under the cooling comforter. The box demanded a stick at the same time every day, and 6 a.m. was the only hour the stick ritual was guaranteed never to be preempted. The box demanded sticks on the weekends, too.

In return for religiously meeting its demands, the box told us to go forth… and cool our heels. This was something I hadn’t considered when I agreed to let the cursed thing into our boudoir; that it could also tell you very accurately when not to bother with conjugal activities. The fantastic box says no, and no again, and again, no. Would rain never come to the barren dessert that had become our bed?

And then the box said yes. Hurray for the box! The rains cometh, and life returns in all its glory. After that, the box said yes again; I was still happy to do its bidding. However, the next day, a friend from another city called to notify me that several other friends were gathering there, and would I like to join them? Well, the box said yes – which meant, of course, no. There was no way I could justify taking my precious genetic legacy out of town during this, the very peak of our fertility. But how would I explain the omnipotent power of the domineering box to the guys? My friends, I knew, would only snicker in my absence, make merry, and say humiliating things like “his wife wouldn’t let him come.”

Not that the weekend was a total loss. The box wasn’t the only one saying yes and yes again. But whereas I knew the status of its batteries, I was beginning to doubt mine; I was merely a man, trying to keep pace with a relentless machine, and also with a white plastic box. But all things must end, and eventually, the yeses turned to no’s, and the 6 a.m. stick rituals turned into the 6 a.m. diaper rituals, and the plastic box was put away. But its tyranny is not dead, only sleeping.

Freudian Slippers

Heather Tucker

The test results were in. It didn’t look good. Apparently I’d scored 612 on the Holmes-Rae Life Event Stress Scale.
“Mom, you need help, seriously. A score over 300 means you’re headed for a meltdown.”

“You sure that’s my score?”

She rechecked. “Oops, I made a mistake. Holy crap, you actually scored 732!”

“Okeedookee then.” I slid my mug across the table. “Top up my coffee with a little Irish Cream, will ya sweetie?”

“Maybe you should think about seeing someone. You have been a little¡K um¡K sort of¡K well¡K on the edge lately.”

I studied the sympathetic, Mom, you’ve lost it, look on her beautiful face. I wondered when I’d changed from her super-hero to the poor women slipping over the edge. Perhaps she was right. There was no denying that it had been a very tumultuous year, or two, or fifty¡K

Two years ago, on an icy winter day, Gordon bought the farm. It was a terrible shock. When the snow finally melted, we discovered that we owned 300 acres of the sandiest soil on the planet. Not even a blessed potato would take root in it. Neither would our children. Empty nests are difficult for mothers. All my dear children had flown, and not to sensible locations like Hamilton or Guelph. No, they’d headed off to the remotest corners of the earth, and the words: Don’t worry, It won’t cost much, and Can you store my stuff? still rang in my ears.

I inhaled my coffee, “Maybe it is time to seek professional help.”

Abby nodded. “It’s kinda fun.”

“What? Therapy? How do you know?”

“It’s a requirement for my master’s. Everyone goes through analysis.”

My life flashed before my eyes, and I saw Abby sharing it all with her shrink. It’s always the mother’s fault. Oh God, had she told about the naked plumber? Disclosed what I did to her turtle? Or¡K Lord, please not the Han Solo poster on the bedroom ceiling. There were so many ways I’d traumatized this child.

Sitting in Dr. Olivia Kendal’s waiting room I feared I’d made a mistake. Enya played softly in the background, Chai tea spiced the air. I perused her glossy brochure: I’m OK, You’re Not OK, So Let’s Talk. Her twenty-something frame emerged wearing the same ruffled skirt and peasant blouse I’d worn in the sixties. She pointed to my feet, and then to the ‘No Shoes’ sign on the wall. “There are slippers in the basket.”

“Are they Freudian?” I said, trying to break the tension and calm my nerves.

She looked puzzled. “Ah, no. They’re fleece.”

I followed her to the inner sanctum and sank into a big, velvet chair. A large print of Starry Night hung on the wall. “Interesting choice of art.”

“Why’s that?”

“Van Gogh for a therapist’s office.”

“Who?”

“Never mind.” I scoped out the exits.

“So Ms. Taylor, tell me why you’ve come today?”

I searched for the right way to begin, for something profound, but not too revealing. “Well Doctor, I was pondering what Plato said about the unexamined life not being worth living, and it got me thinking that my lived life was worth examining.” I was amazed by my cleverness. I waited for applause and affirmation.

She seized the pencil tucked behind her ear and wrote furiously. I was certain I heard ‘delusions of grandeur’ being scratched across the page.

This was not going well. I should’ve just said, “People think I’m nuts. I need help.” I noticed a squat table in the corner, filled with sand and toys: shovels, dump trucks, action figures, farm animals¡K Ah, common ground, we could relate on the topic of children. “I see that you’re a child therapist as well?”

“No, I just treat adults.”

“Oh.” I looked at the sandbox.

“That’s part of my treatment model. Helps one dig down, get in touch with deep issues.” She judged over her glasses. “We won’t go there for months.”

I sat in silence. She asked, “What goes through your mind right now?”

I resisted revealing, an extra large Tim’s, double cream, and an apple-cinnamon cruller. I just said, “Sex.”

The session was enlightening. Apparently I’m depressed, repressed, angry, and in deep denial. I’m in need of months, perhaps years, of intensive therapy at $120 per hour. I drove home, longing for the asylum of my 300 acre sandbox. Abby and several friends were playing volleyball. They somehow always knew when there was lasagna in the freezer. The ball landed by my foot. “Nice shoes Mom.” I looked down at the fuzzy pink slippers and recounted the stops I’d made since my appointment: bank, supermarket, pharmacy¡KI may have been a woman teetering on the Freudian-brink, but at least I was wearing comfortable slippers.

Skip the Loo My Darling

Carol Burnside

In the beginning, public washrooms had manual flush toilets… and it was good.
And the Lord rested knowing that women had dominance over public toilets–that there were toilet tanks aplenty upon which to rest purses and parcels–and that all toilets had handles to be depressed and jiggled as each woman saw fit.

Then suddenly, without warning, the age of enlightenment ended, and a time of great darkness descended upon the public washroom. It was during this period, under much secrecy and without consulting so much as a single female, that manual flush toilets began disappearing from public washrooms across the land, to be replaced with automatic flushing beasts of burden.

And women everywhere were pissed off.

Okay, hold on, maybe I’m being a little overdramatic here, but I was pissed off, or rather, I am pissed off; and who wouldn’t be? I mean, at the very least I resent the implication that a toilet can best decide when it should and should not flush.

At any rate, these toilets never flush when they should.

This may sound harsh, but I’m convinced that I’ve got a better chance of seeing a blind, three legged ant dance the cha-cha on my kitchen counter than I do of ever having one of these toilets flush when I want it to.

Personally, I suspect that the problem with these toilets is that a good many of them suffer from premature evacuation.

I’m quite certain that the powers that be would rather we weren’t aware of such things; but we’ve all experienced it–self flushing toilets that flush the instant you step inside their cubicle, catching you in wide-eyed disbelief and causing you to wonder if the toilet you’re about to utilize hasn’t just used up its per person flush allotment.

Exasperating as that can be, what is even more bothersome is that oftentimes these toilets will let go with a flush just as you’re positioning your backside upon their seat.

Is there anything quite as shocking as an unexpected sitz bath?

And to think that I used to believe that finding dribble on a toilet seat was the most disgusting washroom experience I could have.

How naive of me.

In light of this, it may come as no surprise to know that as much as possible, I avoid using public washrooms. Last week, however, out of sheer cross-your-legs necessity, I reluctantly decided to use the washroom at Roxbury Mall.

I must admit, when the toilet didn’t greet me with a flush as I entered the stall, I was relieved. So far so good, I thought.

Then, as I oh-so-carefully sat upon the seat and the toilet didn’t flush, I shouted “Alleluia, Praise the Lord!” When I finished my business and was ready to leave the stall and the toilet REFUSED to flush, I said… well, what was said then is not important.

What is important is that I discovered that no amount of spastic hand waving in front of a toilet sensor will convince a toilet to flush if it chooses otherwise.

In other words, their code cannot be cracked.

I also learned that when confronted with toilets such as these, sometimes a gal has to resign herself to wait patiently inside the washroom stall until the toilet decides to flush; much like some damn recess bell signaling that class is over and you are free to leave… and remember there’ll be no running in the halls!

Imagine, all this angst because someone thought that a toilet could best determine when to flush itself.

Funny isn’t it? Somewhere along the way we’ve won the right to vote, but lost the right to flush.

Well that’s okay. I’m an eternal optimist, and as such I’m betting that automatic flush toilets are nothing more than an annoying fad that soon will go the way of soap-on-a-rope…down the drain.

I don’t know about anyone else, but until then, as far as it is humanly possible, I’ll skip the loo my darling.