Bidets Are Not “Gay,” Dad
Opening my father’s eyes to the marvels of a clean anus.
I didn’t use a bidet until 2017 and never looked back.
I took a trip to Vietnam and noticed a lack of toilet paper in the more rural areas. The toilet only had an attachment that looked like a faucet sprayer you’d typically find on a sink.
Of course, I knew what it was for. I’m not mentally impaired, but my Western sensibilities refused to let go of the old ways, and I asked our Vietnamese host if she had any toilet paper.
The language barrier was insurmountable, and I returned to my room with no choice but to clean myself with the toilet sprayer.
Now, I don’t know what it’s like to look into your newborn baby’s eyes when they smile and grab your finger, but I imagine it’s exactly like the first time I cleaned my orifice with a blast of water.
I was cleansed, like I’d been baptized in the river Jericho, and my life instantly changed.
I came back to America with a new appreciation for Communism and the cleanest ass west of Saigon. The first thing I did was order a bidet on Amazon and install it in my apartment bathroom.
After a mild flood, it was ready to go, and I took it for a test drive.
