My hotel has one of the high tech toilets that washes your
o-shiri. This is important because my wife wouldn't want me walking around Tokyo with a dirty butt nor soiled underwear, which would be a disgrace to her honor. Of course, I remind her that no one will ever see my underwear. "What if you get hit by a truck?" she warns. In case you forget your glasses and can't read which button to push (there's one mode to wash your bottom and another button for bidet mode), the buttons are color coordinated. Pink is for the ladies. Brown is the one I'm looking for. The odors bring back memories of the night before at
Ginza Stock restaurant where the waitress has thrown open the windows for fresh air only to be hit with a stench of strong sulfur overtones and more. "That's Ginza air," she says, which I noticed the moment I entered the Shinbashi Ginza area. I reply, "That's smellier than the strong Gorgonzola cheese you serve here. Do you have a good wine to pair with it?"
