Cloyce and the blood blister

When we moved into our house, the upstairs bathroom had a nice mahogany toilet seat. But as with all things human made, it eventually broke. I went to the hardware and bought a decent replacement. We simply threw the old one in the common dumpster which we shared at that time with about six neighbors.

Several days later I happened to be visiting in my neighbor's house; I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name. Excusing myself to use his washroom, I saw a nicely refinished mahogany toilet seat. "Where did you get this, Cloyce?" I asked.

"Out of the dumpster. Isn't it cool? Someone was just throwing it out; can you believe that?" He had taken the thing, scrubbed it clean, reglued and refinished it, and put it on his commode.

I answered, "Yes I can, because it was mine. I can't believe you took something like from a dumpster!"

"It's perfectly good," he protested. But that didn't keep Cloyce from chastising me several days later when the seat had rebroken and left a blood blister on the back of his thigh. "You toilet seat did it to me," he whined.

"Serves you right dumpster diving stuff like that," was all I said.