I’m worried about toilet magazines.

In ancient times, some of the classier establishments in my town, including classy households, had a rack of magazines for one to peruse while…using the facilities. 

You know, dropping the…okay, okay I won’t do it.

It wasn’t always a rack. That was real high-end stuff. Oftentimes it was a metal bin, a wicker basket of round or rectangular or even square symmetry, or even just an unceremonious pile on top of the tank. 

(What ever happened to wicker? Do you remember wicker furniture? Are you that old? It was great unless you wore shorts and happened to slouch off the provided cushion onto the actual wicker, which inevitably had an out-of-place wick that would stab the bajesus out of the tender meat on the back of your thigh. If you’re not that old, I’m subsequently upset.)

(What ever happened to bean bags? Do you remember when one would burst open and the horrific little plastic/Styrofoam/chemical “beans” would fall out and get everywhere and probably took years off our lives simply from entering our field of vision? And the weird smell that would fill the room when the caustic fake beans contacted air? Or maybe that was my friend Ryan. Did they ever actually fill the bags with just dried beans? Are beanbags floating in the ocean right now? Crap.)

Speaking of crap, I don’t see these magazine racks available anymore, and thus no toilet magazines. Not that I’ve gone to the bathroom anywhere but my own home for the past 6-months. But you show me a home and/or facility with a rack of what are undoubtedly filthy, bacteria-laden, soiled subscription-based magazines including People, National Geographic (personal favorite), The Economist (don’t understand it, but typically hold to look smart), Boating Magazine® or even a three-year-old IKEA catalogue – you show me this, via a non-photoshopped photo (I have no idea how I’d tell if it was photoshopped) and I’ll write you a custom birthday card with a hand-drawn illustration of my silhouette – if you tell me your date of birth and social security number.

(Do you remember those black and white silhouette prints or drawings everyone had somewhere in their house in the 80’s? Are you not that old? Stop it.)

So I’m starting to think I should stop worrying about the fate of toilet magazines because obviously I haven’t seen any lately so they must be dead. 

As I’m working through the logic here, I’m realizing they’ve been replaced by our mobile phones. Well, YOUR mobile phone. I’m not disgusting.  

How. Disgusting. Way worse than a toilet magazine.

At least with the magazine you weren’t shoving it in your pocket, pulling it out every 90-seconds to fondle with all of your digits while occasionally rubbing it on the right side of your mouth and face. 

Thank goodness for AirPods or other hands-free (they should call them face-free) devices. Stops the spread of the filth. From your toilet.

And you certainly weren’t bringing the toilet magazine to BED with you. Oh. My. God.

So let this be a lesson to you all as you wallow in shame. The 80’s were a great time to fight communism, furnish with wicker, watch Tic Tack Dough in a bean bag, and let National Geographic take you on a journey through Nepal or Orion’s Belt while you relaxed in the bliss of a well-furnished bathroom, that may have had toilet seat lids covered in a fuzzy carpet-like material, often colored a soft baby blue or gentle pink. 

Gross. That must have been hard to clean. But you’re not old enough to remember so it’s going to be fine.