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Let me tell you about our toilet.

It’s magic.

You know you these days you can get self-cleaning ovens, self-cleaning windows and self-cleaning litter boxes? Well, get this: we have a self-cleaning toilet.

You’ve probably come across something similar in some town square. You know, one of those great big metal monstrosities that you see in public spaces these days, the ones that look like an exploded boil, where you have to heave open a heavy prison-like door and when you’re inside you can’t relax enough to even have a wee because you’re not quite sure the door is truly locked and some freak is about to keel in and anyway, it echoes in there… well those things. After you’ve finished, and you come out into fresh air and freedom and the door clangs shut behind you, just to draw everyone else’s attention, the toilet starts whirring, grinding and sluicing and abracadabra! Clean public toilet. (What if you were stuck inside when it starts doing that?)

Anyway, we’ve got something similar. In our house, you can go to the bathroom, do what you need to do… and the next day it’s completely clean.

‘How is this possible?’ you shriek. Well, before you batter my door down in frenzied desperation for my secret, I’m not entirely sure. But it’s got something to do with nano-technology, ultraviolet rays and particle friction.

But hey, who cares about how it works? All you need to know, dear reader, is that this seemingly ordinary toilet, the one that’s graces our very ordinary, unremarkable, unmagical house, is eternally sparkling and fresh.

My family, as you can imagine, are baffled (such fun!). As they leave the bathroom, they shake their dear, dazzled heads, mystified, albeit briefly, about the fact that any mess will soon vanish into thin air.

‘Magic toilet’, I whisper, tapping the side of my nose.

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