CHICAGO, IL—Christmas is a delightful time of year marked in the minds of many Americans by snow, colorful lights, and the prolonged, laborious limp of half-dead religious fervor. To many, the Christmas holiday is one of the few times that cold, stony cathedrals can pump enough zeal into adherents of their faith that they actually attend worship services. In the author's experience, that time is almost always spent on hard wooden benches that push the boundaries of discomfort. Some innovative people, finding themselves in the predicament of having to sit through long, uncomfortable sermons on long, uncomfortable pews, might just brainstorm ways to make this the best Christmas ever by increasing their gluteus comfort to the maximus. Sure, you could bring a stadium seat cushion like a 70-year-old suburbanite going to a baseball game, but that will only signal to the clergy that you "don't approve of the austerity of God's house," earning a 15-minute lecture from that condescending [expletive] Father McAdams.
No, you won't be making that mistake, not again. Some of the more imaginative participants in this experience – who definitely are not idiots, no matter what stupid Todd says – will conceive of other, more subtle ideas. Some may remember hearing about "stool softeners" and realize that they've never actually tried them. They ask themselves, "Could it be? Has my butt been needlessly falling asleep on hardwood slabs for years when a solution was a mere drug store away?" Thrilled by your own sheer i̶d̶i̶o̶c̶y̶ genius and perhaps too giddy at the entire prospect, you leave your deadbeat job at a fake news site early to pick up a few different kinds of stool softeners and laxatives (which is obviously related to the word "relax," meaning it helps you relax in physically uncomfortable circumstances, any reasonable adult would assume).
The big day where your wife drags you to church services arrives. High on anticipation, you nonchalantly make your way to the restroom, a crooked grin riding your face. You take the stool softeners and send a quick prayer upward. You plant your buttocks firmly on the pew next to your wife and wait for a glorious moment of stool-softening, but feel no different. Even when you shift your weight and flex, it doesn't feel any different. Disappointed, but filled with the resolve to make this year different, you quietly consume some of the chewable (re)laxatives.
In minutes, you feel something, but it certainly does not make the hallowed confines of the Lord's house more comfortable. Your bowels are filled, but not with mercy, compassion, or any other holy thing. Realization dawns. Panic strikes. Your sphincter goes haywire and you suddenly realize the practicality of adult diapers. It's all you can do to stand and waddle your way out in a rush while under the constant glare of your pious wife. You pass Todd, who just happens to be sitting at the back of the same service with his stupid grin and condescending wave, like he knows you've done something you'll regret.
Don't worry. I get it. We've all been there. The beauty is, even though it might not have been the outcome you were expecting, you got out of the sermon. The hard plastic of a toilet seat is certainly more comfortable than the thick wood of a church bench. "Isn't this what I wanted?" you think to yourself. But that's before you experience the intestinal hell earned by those who spurn the divine message of Christmas Sunday. Stool softeners certainly do not enhance the comfort of church benches. No, quite the opposite. Not that I would know or anything, I mean, I'm no fool. I definitely would not have taken double the recommended dose either. 2/5 would not recommend.