08 February 2009

Where the hell is FEMA when you need it?

FB comes down the stairs after his shower tonight and informs me that the toilet in the boys' bathroom is clogged. FB sounds as if there is a dire emergency whenever he speaks of clogged toilets or faucets that he has difficulty turning off. I can only imagine this stems from when he was four and he had plugged the sink, locked the bathroom door, and turned the sink on full blast. The sink filled to capacity, and then, naturally, past capacity. He was unable to turn the faucet off and was equally unable to unlock the door in his panicked state. I had no knowledge of this catastrophe until the water began pouring through the light fixture in the ceiling fan downstairs. Hence, the panic. I trudged up the stairs to see what fresh hell awaited me. I have plunged more toilets in the 6 years we have lived in this house than I have in my entire life. SoS has a morbid fear of anything getting on his hands...dirt, barbeque sauce, candy...so you can imagine the amount of toilet paper he uses in an effort to keep things tidy. I took the handy dandy plunger upstairs and....great day in the morning!!!!! The toilet was to the brim! The floor was awash! The bathmat was saturated! I wish I still drank! The destruction in that bathroom rivaled flatlands flooding in the Mississippi Delta. Okay, that's an exaggeration, but I've had a busy weekend and SoS was living up to his name today, not to mention I took SHSo'C to the airport so he could go to Thailand (read: extremely far away from yours truly. Insert appropriate puppy whimpering noise here); I was a trifle overwhelmed at that point. It didn't help that every time I plunged, a tsunami of toilet water washed over my feet. eeewww. After 6 beach towels, bailing out the toilet bowl and pouring it into the bathtub, 30 minutes of vigorous plunging, and a fair amount of dropping the f-bomb, I achieved toilet pipe patency! The bitch of this whole thing is I had just mopped the floors and cleaned the bathrooms three days ago. As I gathered up the sopping, dripping, disgusting bathmat and towels and carried them dripping and sopping down the stairs to the laundry room I had to ask myself...why do I even bother? This helps my anal tendencies not at all.

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