Potty Talk

My husband and I are both the oldest children from our families of origin. According to Dr. Kevin Leman, this isn't such a hot combination. It means that both of us think we are right. All of the time.

Now, my husband and I live in an older house. A 1960's ranch-style tract house, to be exact. Since our house is pushing 50, certain parts of it need to be treated with "care" and "respect." Specifically the one toilet that we have on our main floor.

I hesitate to use the word intimate, but really, I can't think of a better one. I have an intimate relationship with our toilet. I have cleaned it more times than I can possibly count; I have put two new seats on it in the six years we have been here; replaced the inside flapper-thingy that makes it flush properly; potty-trained two children with its helpful assistance; and during one particularly bad bout with the flu, spent the entire night curled up around its cool porcelain base. Because my house is old, with old pipes, I have also plunged the thing more than once. It is old--and it has to service six people, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. So I have learned to treat it with respect. I know what brands of toilet paper it likes--and how much it can "handle" at a time. I have even offered classes to my family--the "4-6 square, fold, wipe, look, fold, wipe, look, flush, THEN get new paper if you need it" classes. I feel that I have patiently explained to everyone that our poor facility cannot handle half a roll of paper at one time. No one listens to me. So I have the plunger strategically placed next to the pot.

The other day, I went to use the restroom and the poor toilet had that "look." You know--not near enough water in the bowl, toilet paper oozing out of the hole in the bottom of it, the new roll of paper you put on the spindle an hour ago looking very sparse--kind of look. I started to grab the plunger.

Then it occured to me: My hubby was home! For the first time in like six days! HE could plunge the toilet. That's a guy's job, right? So I grab him and explain the problem--delicately.

"Some idiot in this family just dumped a load in the john and then felt the need to follow it with an entire roll of Charmin!! Welcome home, Honey!"

I followed him into the bathroom. Hubby looked into the toilet, and without even grabbing the plunger, he flushed it.

"You're going to need to plunge that," I said.

He ignored me and kept watching the water. Water started filling the bowl. Faster than it was going out the bottom.

"It's going to overflow. " I told him.

He still ignored me. The water was up to the underside of the rim.

"HONEY--You are going to need to...CRAP!!! I TOLD YOU YOU NEEDED TO PLUNGE THAT!!" I screamed as the water crested up over the top of the bowl and poured onto the bathroom floor.

He then, in a totally shocked voice, said, "Why did it do that? It's never done that to ME before."

"Because you didn't listen to me!" I yelled. "Sometimes, I DO know what I am talking about!"

Good grief! Maybe Dr. Leman is right!