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Daniel Velez
Daniel Velez
6 min read

A bidet is a toilet attachment that shoots water up your ass. They are popular in Europe (according to my girlfriend) and, more importantly, she really wants to get one for our bathroom.

I do not want a bidet. Call me old fashioned, insecure in my masculinity, or a tight-ass, but, the idea of water streaming into my asshole does not sit well with me.

But, as an open-minded individual, I am open to the conversation. Or more accurately, I am willing to accept and endure my girlfriend’s indefinite political campaign for a bidet.

As with all political campaigns, she starts with a video advertisement strategically placed at halftime of a major sporting event. In this case, it is the LA Rams on Monday Night Football.

“You should look at this.”

“Look at what?”

She smiles, slides next to me on the couch, and shows me a bidet on her phone. I look up at the TV hoping that live sports can save me but, it's halftime. I usually could repel her with quirky sports statements like, "Isn't it interesting that the Rams run a zone blocking scheme and…" But she's been eyeing the 2nd quarter game-clock like a hawk and I'm left defenseless.

I look down at her phone and see a bidet by a company called Tushy. “An apt name,” I think to myself. I’ve never seen a bidet before and am curious as to how it works. The bidet connects to the sink and is easy to install (one barrier down). “Let me see it in action,” I tell her. So she pulls up a video on YouTube and presses play. My eyes widen and I say, “That’s terrifying.”

The bidet has a knub that hangs below the toilet seat. This is where the water shoots from. Don't let the size fool you. That little thing has the power of a level 99 Blastoise. If there was no human being to sit there and take it, the stream of water could hit the wall.

“You can change the pressure,” she says but the damage has been done. I squeeze my buttocks thinking of the laser beam of liquid destroying my fragile and virgin anus.

"The knob here lets you change the pressure," she reaffirms. All I can think about is a fighter jet pilot handling the control stick, locking on to their target, and pressing the red button but, instead of shooting an enemy jet, a missile of water gets shot up their ass.

Lucky for me, the 3rd quarter starts.

My friends that have bidets all give good reviews. I've heard the arguments, "You use water to wash your hands so why not to wash your bum?" My counterargument is always accusatory, "Dog, you like water up your ass?"

My stance on bidets was solid as stone but, like all mountains, the slow and consistent weathering changed me. I played logical games in my mind. If I get a bidet and like it, then wiping my butt in public will become a tragic experience. If I get a bidet and like it, what else would I like up there? Will the bidet be a gateway to more solid objects in my anal cavity? I didn't dare to think any deeper about the latter.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad sitting on the john and activating a geyser?

While watching Aaron Judge chase the home run record, I surprise my girlfriend with a question, “Don’t you still have to wipe your ass because it’s wet after the bidet?”

She straightens up from the couch and turns off whatever media she is consuming. I can't remember if it was a murder podcast, murder-mystery novel, murder documentary on Netflix, or a murder blog she was reading. It was one of those.

She responds, “Most people have a towel just for wiping after the bidet.”

A tableside lamp turns on in my mind, "So you don't need toilet paper?"


A lighthouse blazes on in my mind, "Reaaallyyy…"

I'm a dedicated minimalist. The more bullshit I can remove from my life, the better. I began to dream. I don't have to fight unmasked strangers for toilet paper in the next pandemic? Toilet paper is like bills, you have to pay for them because you always need them. It's in the same category as water, electricity, trash pickup, internet, eggs, — beer. It may not save me much money, but it will be a consistent savings. I will never need to buy toilet paper ever again. Who knew exploring my nether regions could be so economical? Freedom!

“Dear, how much did that bidet cost…”

The bidet arrives at our front door in a cardboard box. My girlfriend tears open the box and dashes into the bathroom. I offer her my help and go sit on the couch. I turn on a baseball game and await instructions.

A cacophony of sounds comes from the bathroom: the sound of ratchets turning, several toilet flushes, and metal and plastic items sliding against the concrete floor. Five outs later, my girlfriend emerges from the bathroom, sweating, with a screwdriver in her hand and an accomplished smile on her face.

"Come," she says. She wants me to do the honors of using the bidet first. She sees that I'm scared. She rubs my traps and encourages me. I thank her for putting this contraption on our toilet. She leaves the bathroom and closes the door behind her. I turn around and stare the enemy in the face. Me and the butt shooter square off in a Mexican standoff.

It's as if I'm in physical therapy. I think about each movement in detail for something I've been doing subconsciously my whole life. I'm nervous. I sit down on the toilet without taking off my pants. First, belt. Second, zipper. Third… I'm in the correct shitting position but, I'm not here to poop; I have nothing in the tank. I'm here to clean my already clean rump.

I count to three and turn the pressure knob to 25%. I clinch. Nothing. A quarter turn of the knob turns the bidet into a sad water fountain. I am expecting a straight jet of water but instead, I get a parabola. It doesn't even reach the — target.

I turn it back down to zero, take a deep breath, and crank it up to 50%. A squeal comes out of my body. I quickly put my hand over my mouth. I hear my girlfriend chuckling in the other room. I'm… okay. No, I'm great! It's water that has touched me but it feels more like electricity. I can feel the Earth healing from all the trees I’ll be saving.

After several minutes of increasing the pressure and adjusting the spray nozzle angle, it’s time for me to dry off. We didn’t designate a bidet towel and I don’t like the idea of one. I know it is supposed to be clean but, it is still it, you know? I’ve never needed to dry off my butt crack because water has never penetrated me so deeply. After a shower or a swim, just standing does the trick but, I’m dripping down there. I need a new way.

What I’m about to explain is a movement nobody will ever see me perform. I don’t leave the door open when I’m doing my business at home. That’s weird. The bathroom exhaust vent should be the only thing smelling my biological waste.

I place my elbows on my knees. Then lean my head forward and down to face the ground. I lift up my rear end and my shins become perpendicular to the ground; my body is positioned similarly to how I'd deadlift. I then proceed to move my ass up and down until enough water has dripped from my intergluteal cleft (don't Google this). I'm not really shaking my ass but, if somebody were 100 yards away and saw me doing this, they may interpret it that way. I look like how an international student would look if she were to learn about twerking and then practice in the mirror in her private bedroom - with the door locked.

I’m not totally dry but, I’m dry enough to comfortably wear pants all day and avoid wiping myself with a towel.

I hope one day I can turn up my bidet to 9,000 times the power and catapult myself to work, riding a wave of water in the sky while avoiding traffic.

The bidet is a win-win-lose. It's a win for consumers, they get a cleaner butt. It's a win for the environment, a few ounces of water is better for the environment than a few sheets of paper. It's a loss for the toilet paper companies, unless they want to become bidet companies.

If you know anybody who is hesitant about getting a bidet, share this post with them.

Here’s to making a bidet standard with every toilet!


Daniel Velez Twitter

Daniel is building the future of reuse. His last venture, Growly Delivers, delivered local beer in returnable high-tech growlers. What will he do next?


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