A CAUTIONARY TALE
I'm not sure what this tale cautions against. But I caution against reading it unless you have a strong stomach. It involves SERIOUS bathroom humor. Consider yourself warned...
Yesterday morning the toilet upstairs would not flush. Plunging did not help. This was more than a little unpleasant, as the water in the bowl was --- let's just say --- not Tidee Bowl blue. What's worse, I had flushed it one time too many, over-confident about the plunging potential, and some of the unsavory water had cascaded onto the floor.
After bailing into -- then bleach-scrubbing the tub and floor, I went to pick up Zack at school. I asked him to think really hard about whether he remembered putting anything in the toilet the night before. He recalled an altercation with a small rubber ducky. He was pretty sure he had flushed it.
Today I called a plumber on a friend's recommendation. It took that plumber six hours to call me back and tell me he could come over in two weeks. Lucky we have another bathroom.
I picked up the late and useless message from the plumber via my cell-phone, as I was fighting rush-hour traffic back from the outer-reaches. Zack and I had spent the afternoon takingt two buses and a light rail train deep into Portland's western suburbs to pick up our car and its brand-new clutch. Jim and I had taken the car to the dealer in the burbs where we bought it, hoping the repair would be under warranty. No such luck. $1,500 later, I know why they call it a clutch. They clutch your wallet, you clutch your heart, hair, gut, whatever.
We got home and I plopped Zack into a nice hot bubble bath. I was surfing the phone book for a new plumber, when Zack announced -- rightfully panicked -- that he had pooped in the tub. Consider these two important facts: 1) The tub was full of bubbles and bath toys, masking said poop -- which was a blowout. 2) The toilet in that particular bathroom was out of commission.
It was a toddler moment to end 'em all. The rest of the story is best left to the imagination. Suffice it to say that tub and boy are now clean, and we are all recovering.
Anybody know a good plumber? And oh, how was your day?
I'm not sure what this tale cautions against. But I caution against reading it unless you have a strong stomach. It involves SERIOUS bathroom humor. Consider yourself warned...
Yesterday morning the toilet upstairs would not flush. Plunging did not help. This was more than a little unpleasant, as the water in the bowl was --- let's just say --- not Tidee Bowl blue. What's worse, I had flushed it one time too many, over-confident about the plunging potential, and some of the unsavory water had cascaded onto the floor.
After bailing into -- then bleach-scrubbing the tub and floor, I went to pick up Zack at school. I asked him to think really hard about whether he remembered putting anything in the toilet the night before. He recalled an altercation with a small rubber ducky. He was pretty sure he had flushed it.
Today I called a plumber on a friend's recommendation. It took that plumber six hours to call me back and tell me he could come over in two weeks. Lucky we have another bathroom.
I picked up the late and useless message from the plumber via my cell-phone, as I was fighting rush-hour traffic back from the outer-reaches. Zack and I had spent the afternoon takingt two buses and a light rail train deep into Portland's western suburbs to pick up our car and its brand-new clutch. Jim and I had taken the car to the dealer in the burbs where we bought it, hoping the repair would be under warranty. No such luck. $1,500 later, I know why they call it a clutch. They clutch your wallet, you clutch your heart, hair, gut, whatever.
We got home and I plopped Zack into a nice hot bubble bath. I was surfing the phone book for a new plumber, when Zack announced -- rightfully panicked -- that he had pooped in the tub. Consider these two important facts: 1) The tub was full of bubbles and bath toys, masking said poop -- which was a blowout. 2) The toilet in that particular bathroom was out of commission.
It was a toddler moment to end 'em all. The rest of the story is best left to the imagination. Suffice it to say that tub and boy are now clean, and we are all recovering.
Anybody know a good plumber? And oh, how was your day?
