Last night my husband took me on a mystery date.  We arrived at Harbour Sixty Steakhouse for our dinner reservations, a half an hour late, due to construction and traffic.  The steakhouse is located in the historic Harbour Commission Building, has valet parking and high-end service, complete with a Sommelier and menu items all a-la-carte.

We both ordered steaks; I chose my Rib Eye, which I prefer to the Filet, any day.  We also shared calamari for an appetizer and sides of asparagus and grilled tomatoes with our dinner.  The asparagus was ho-hum, but the grilled tomatoes were fabulous.  Our steaks were incredible but, at $56 each, I would hope so.  I had two glasses of really great wine ($25/glass!) and we really enjoyed our dinners.

What left the greatest impression on me, I must admit, was not the food.  It was the toilet in the ladies washroom.

Mid-dinner, I excused myself to head in that direction.  A helpful waiter escorted me all the way around the restaurant, right to the door leading to the washrooms on the lower level.  All of the employees have mastered the female customer encounter; it’s the perfect mix of respectful deference with eye contact long enough to make one wonder, “Does he think I’m attractive?”  But I digress.

I headed into the washroom, which is finished in mahogany woodwork.   I had trouble finding the “stall” because they were all in their own separate areas.  When I opened the door, I noticed the toilet.  It had LED lights, sensors, and a control panel on the wall covered with buttons.

It was the Toto S400.  Is it just me, or are angels singing?

The lid automatically lifted when I entered, the seat was heated and there were enough options on the control panel to dissuade any red-blooded woman to ever leave the washroom again.


Rear and front cleansing?  Oscilating?  Pulsating?  Temperature, pressure, and direction controls?  Are you kidding me?  The piece de resistance was the dryer, with it’s own controls for heat and intensity.  I was surprised that there weren’t skeletons littering the floor.

I returned to the table with a huge smirk on my face.  When my husband enquired as to what was “up” with me, I simply told him that he must go to the washroom.  I told him he wouldn’t believe it, but it seems the male customers at The Harbour Sixty aren’t as pampered as the females and he returned, unimpressed.

I honestly feel badly for the guys…but you’ll have to excuse me.

I think I hear nature calling.