View from the Precipice

 

 

 

A Home Improvement Suggestion for the White House

 

 

Dear Mr. President,

 

I hope you’ll forgive the interruption. Your head must be spinning these days. Blowing up fishing boats, arresting children, suppressing insurrections on Beale Street and the Miracle Mile . . . how do you find the time? (And speaking of the National Guard, where did you find all those masks? You must have been up half the night.)

 

Then suddenly, out of the blue, a major home remodeling! I know you’ve taken a lot of flak from critics who say the East Wing has historic significance, but so does my basement (to me, anyway), and that didn’t stop me from putting another bedroom down there. (You’d be amazed what you can do with some moving blankets and a second-hand bed from Freecycle.) Point being, we need someone like you, someone who’s courageous enough to defy the haters and give public opinion the finger, if we’re going to Make America Great Again. 

 

In short, we need a king.

 

And a king needs a throne.

 

I was put in mind of this urgent topic by a chance concatenation of events, beginning with a visit to my son in Portland. (Maine, not Oregon. No insurrections so far, but if I hear of any, I’ll let you know.)  He and his wife and their two daughters, ages 10 and 14, live in a tiny house built in 1866 for a family of mice. Nominally, it has three bedrooms upstairs, but one is about the size of a walk-in closet. (You’ll bump your head on the ceiling if you walk in standing up). Another used to have a brick chimney stack rising through it. The staircase is wide enough to accommodate a rolled-up newspaper held sideways and the step down to the kitchen from the living room, if you happen to forget it’s there, will send you sprawling. There’s one bathroom, downstairs, and one source of heat, a pellet stove in the living room.

 

My son (motto: “How hard can it be?”) has made dozens of improvements to the house over the years to make it cozy and comfy. The most impressive is to be found in the bathroom: a TOTO Washlet bidet.

 

It’s been said that a man’s home is his castle. This castle has a throne room, and a throne.

 

As it happened, our return from Portland coincided with the news about your White House makeover. They say the new East Wing will be double the size of the rest of your home and feature a ballroom fit for Versailles.

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My encounter with the TOTO Washlet had me wondering if you’d found a moment to think about bathroom fixtures.

 

Probably not, with so much else on your mind. Which is a shame. Bathrooms must be in short supply around the White House. Otherwise, why would you have to scramble an X-wing fighter (https://truthsocial.com/@realDonaldTrump/posts/115398251623299921) to do your business? (Don’t get me wrong. I admire the galactic ambition. Even Napoleon and Julius Caesar stuck to planet Earth.) It must be difficult to maneuver in that cramped cockpit, especially wearing a flight suit. And, clearly, there’s not enough room to hold the. . .uh . . . effluent.

 

There has to be a better way, I thought to myself.

 

When we got home from Portland, I did some research and discovered that, according to one reviewer on Amazon, the TOTO Washlet is “the Cadillac of bidets.” Here’s what others have to say:

 

“fantastic”

 

“magical”

 

“amazing”

 

“immense joy”

 

“has transformed my bathroom experience”

 

“will change your life”

 

“life-changing!”

 

“LIFE CHANGING!”

 

“You will feel like a greater man!”

 

Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, “I’m already a great man. Why do I need to be a greater man?” Also, “How do I get to be the greatest man?”

 

See? You’re already thinking like a king. So why not take a hint from one? I nominate Louis XIV of France, aka “The Sun King,” the original owner of Versailles.

 

You and Louis have a lot in common. His power was absolute and he imposed his will with impunity, just like you. He had the largest army in Europe, possibly the world, and used it to annex European territories (not including Greenland—there you can do him one better) and advance colonial expansion (Venezuela’s a good start, Mr. President). His taste in the fine arts, fashion, and architecture set the standard for all of Europe. (“Late Mar-a-Lago” has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?).

 

Louis ruled France for 72 years—a world record. This morning I read that you’re expressing doubts about running for a third term. But why would you have to, once elections are a thing of the past? And with recent advances in human cloning, your replicants could rule America for the next thousand years. Just saying.

 

Best of all, The Sun King’s reign coincided with the biggest wealth gap in Western history: 10% of the population owned 90% of the nation’s resources! That’s significantly more disproportionate than what we’re experiencing in the US today, but hey, it’s well within reach. At the rate you’re going you’ll surpass it in no time.

 

As for conspicuous displays of contempt for the subjects you rule, an indispensable adjunct of Divine Right, Louis has nothing on you. You’ve managed to alienate American citizens across the board and at every income level, from courtiers and state ministers all the way down to the lowliest unemployed civil servant scavenging food in a dumpster.  

 

That said, Mr. President, it’ll be hard to outdo Louis in kingly deportment.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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I mean, let’s be honest, a blue business suit and a red tie won’t cut it. And you won’t win this battle with bigger bows, whiter hose, or a taller wig, either. Look at those legs!

 

There’s only one way to beat the Sun King at this game. But you’ll need a TOTO Washlet.

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To begin with, the TOTO is to the chaise percée, the toilet of Louis’s era, what your X-wing is to the Wright Brothers’ rubber-band glider. It’s got more bells and whistles than a monkey-grinder’s calliope: a seat warmer, a self-cleaning washing wand that you can point forward or back, a pulsing function, separate temperature settings for the water and the blow dryer, a mister to keep stuff from sticking to the bowl . . . I could go on and on.

 

Versailles had nearly 350 chaises percées for the use of courtiers and visiting heads of state, but even that was insufficient. Your new East Wing ballroom will seat 999! Why not provide a separate washroom for each guest, featuring the TOTO Washlet?

 

Where to put them? you ask.

 

How about the West Wing? Half the rooms there are being moth-balled anyway. The Secret Service has no more secrets, now that you and your staff are discussing classified information on T-Mobile and messaging apps like Signal. And why does the Navy need its own restaurant? The ocean is miles away. Same goes for the “Old Swimming Pool.” If there’s a new one, why keep the old one?

 

Once every gold-plated faucet and towel ring is in place and the new bidets are merrily humming away, you can rename this end of the White House the "Washlet Wing."

 

As for the Oval Office, add all the gold tchotchkes and filigree wainscotting and gilded portrait frames you want. They’ll fit right in once you repurpose it as a throne room. You’ll have to get rid of the Resolute desk (see “Freecycle,” above) and replace your swivel chair with one of those tall, hard, uncomfortable, gold-leaf Gothic monstrosities you see at Westminster Abbey coronations. But you won’t have to sit in it as a regular thing, and then only for audiences with people who have money they want to give you, which will take a few seconds at most, what with online banking.

 

You’ll have your own Washlet, of course, in the bathroom of your private quarters next to the throne room. It will be gold-plated by TOTO at no cost. (They’ll come around when you float the idea of lifting the tariff on toilet seats.) And here, again, I suggest you consult Louis XIV’s royal operating manual.

 

Louis was famous for inviting his favorite courtiers to join him during his morning toilette, in his private chambers. Historians once assumed this highly ritualized ceremony included doing his business on the royal chaise percée. C’est absurde!  That privilege was reserved for special occasions, like granting a brevet d’affaires or “business patent” to some commercial nabob that would add mountains of francs to the royal treasury.

 

“But invitations [were] rare,” note the authors of “The Hygiene of Louis XIV: Bath, Toothpaste, Pierced Chair!” (18 March 2017. https://plume-dhistoire.fr/hygiene-a-versailles-bain-dentifrice-et-chaise-percee/)

 

“Rare”? When there’s real money at stake? And I don’t mean a measly hundred million or two for home improvement.

 

Mr. President, you’ve shown the world that you’re not ashamed of making money “the old-fashioned way,” like your Republican forebear, Warren G. Harding.  And your X-wing sortie has shown the world you’re anything but shy when it comes to taking a dump. So why not do what comes naturally and combine the two, like Louis?

 

With your Washlet control panel within easy reach, you’ll throw shade on The Sun King once and for all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Did I mention it comes with a deodorizer?

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Yours, sincerely,

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Roman Sympos, PhD