It's not often that one finds herself sipping white wine while perusing a collection of self-cleaning toilets. I tend to keep my alcohol far from the bathroom, unless it's coming out of me, from one end or another. But last night I marveled at a $7K Toto Neorest® 700H Dual Flush Toilet, wine glass in hand, wondering if anyone had ever burned their butt on a heated seat.

The aforementioned Wundertoilet was on display at the Toto flagship store in Flatiron; I was invited to check out the store's bespoke porcelain commodes as part of a media event, thanks, I assume, to this dazzling blog post I wrote about the Toto last year. Totos, for the uninformed, are hi-tech Japanese toilets. These babies can cost up to $10,000, but they come with all the amenities one might expect from such a luxurious bathroom appliance, like built-in bidets, air dryers, deodorizers, and automatic lids. Totos are so beloved that folks who own them eventually find regular toilets downright unpalatable—a Times story last year described how one Toto owner didn't relieve himself once on a 9-hour flight because using a plane toilet would be like "going back to the Stone Age."

A nearly lifelong toilet user myself, I couldn't wait to try a Toto out.

Tuesday's event promised cocktails and hors d'oeuvres, and when I arrived, a waiter pressed a white wine and teeny coconut shrimp bite into my hand while a DJ by the store window spun tracks. Though the media blast urged attendees to arrive early to accommodate a packed schedule, I was one of the first people there. There wasn't much to do other than walk around the showroom, which featured hi-tech sinks, showerheads, fancy bathroom displays and, of course, a range of Totos. The toilets looked very nice, but they didn't appear to be available for use:

One Toto enthusiast/employee, Chuck, offered to run through the different toilets on display. The lower-level Totos ran under $1000 and boasted hi-tech flushing systems, but weren't much different from standard toilets. But the Neorest® 700H Dual Flush Toilet, which retails for a cool $6,800, is the "top of the line in luxury," according to Chuck. "Once you get a Toto, you can't go back," he said. "I have two of them now." I told him I didn't think my landlord would spring for one in my apartment, but the air dry function seemed fun.

Once Chuck was done with his pitch, I got more wine and went back to wandering around the showroom. When my parents used to drag me and my sister to Home Depot when we were kids, we would run around the room displays pretending we were giving people tours of our home. In the Toto showroom, I found myself showing off the $372 Vivian Two Handle Widespread Bathroom Faucet to an invisible houseguest, whispering, "We were considering bronze, but the polished chrome is easier to clean!"

While attempting to take a bathroom mirror selfie in a display, I overheard another salesperson showing a $10K toilet off to a small tour group. "This toilet remembers your habits and keeps track of them," he explained. "If you regularly get up at 5:30, the toilet will have the lid up and seat warmed for you by the time you get to the bathroom." He also noted that in Japan, some Totos are able to monitor your insulin, cholesterol and blood sugar levels, based on your...deposits. He was unable to confirm whether these toilets will one day enslave us.

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Party maintenance. (Rebecca Fishbein / Gothamist)

I was an hour into the toilet party now, and I regretted not bringing a date. I briefly chatted with a plumber and attempted to eat enough thumb-sized sliders to equal a cheeseburger, but it wasn't entertainment enough. Now I knew what a Toto looked like, but what did a Toto feel like? After all, I'd had a lot of wine.

In swept Chuck, my Toto savior. He pointed me to a bathroom in the back of the store, and in it, I beheld none other than a working Neorest® 700H. Sensing my presence and very full bladder, it lifted its seat. I sucked in breath and sat down.

First and foremost, that hot seat is no joke. I expected something unsettlingly warm, like how a regular just-used seat might feel, but sitting on a Toto was akin to warming one's buns by a fire. There was a panel along the wall next to the Toto where you could play with the seat temperature, as well as activate some of the special features. It turns out I don't care much for bidets, but air dryers are lovely.

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HI BEAUTIFUL (Rebecca Fishbein / Gothamist)

Once I'd exhausted my time on the Toto, I got up—the toilet flushed and lowered its lid in benediction, bidding me farewell. It, and I, knew I'd never be the same.

Next stop: the Guggenheim!