Monday, August 18, 2014

Gather Round The Old Toilet Hole

"The house doesn't actually come with a toilet, but what we can offer is this lovely collection of chamber pots."

Afternoon Readers,

If drinking an entire pot of coffee in one morning is wrong, I don't want to be even remotely right.

In fact, I motion we compose a group letter and petition the food pyramid people to make caffeine its own food group. After all it's done for me, I feel that's the least I can do in the way of appreciation. All I'm suggesting is maybe the very tip of the right hand corner. Or the entire bottom. Whatever.

Caffeine is truly the only thing keeping me on the wobbly track that is "The summer we moved and then decided we were never moving again because it would be easier to teach a herd of llamas how to crochet beanies for Bull elephants in need." Regular soda has given way to things like...

Husband: What is that?
Me: It's an energy drink. I found it for ninety-nine cents. It's called "Gridlock."
Me: Right? I can only imagine what it's doing to my insides.

If there's anything I'm learning about selling a house, it's probably that, just when you think you have all your fixes in line, the toilet decides to start pouring into the garage. For those of you who said, "Stage the kitchen with decorative fruit and put up a sale sign," I'm sorry your toilet already fell on top of your Yaris.

For informational purposes, this is prime time to let you know the signs of a leaking toilet seal.

Pee water on your floor
Pee water on your floor
Pee water going through the floor and falling on your lawnmower

(If you bought a lawnmower that was already covered in pee water, double check the first two signs instead.)

Initially, we'd blamed the kids and the dog. After all, what good is having kids or a dog if you can't shove the sad state of your bathroom on them? Exactly. But the problem became so frequent, Husband and I had to admit our kids were at least born with bladders, and the sad reality we had to fix yet another thing set in.

"I think I can fix it."

For a moment, I pulled the phone away and stared at it before putting it back to my ear. "Are you talking about our communication problems or the sewage problem two doors down?"

Husband sounded astoundingly confident, considering we had no idea what was living under the toilet. "I just need a couple things and some help from you. Don't call the plumber."

"Why, sir. You just filled my dance card for the evening."

I'm cheap, so it didn't take a ton of convincing to put away the checkbook and watch Husband unscrew and gingerly pry the porcelain throne away from the laminate. While I rocked back and forth on my heels, waiting to help kill whatever Steven Kingesque creature was crouching under our American Standard, the kids grouped in the doorway and made memories of the time their parents had ruined the bathroom, using only sewage and overconfidence.

"Uuuuuuughhhhh." The collective disgust of the family was simultaneously unifying and horrific, as the dirty, cavernous sewer hole gaped back at us.

Truly surprising, however, was the sense of overwhelming attraction that washed over me. Husband bravely began scraping away the wax remnants of the old seal and, with amazing precision, replaced it with a new one. Confidence radiated as he situated himself to put the toilet back in its respective position.

I'd married a man who could save us all from falling through the floor while we relieved ourselves.

*Insert mental pat on the back for saying 'yes' to our first date and not staying home to eat brownies instead*

"I can't get it back on."

"What?" I'd decided to continue the fun of the evening by putting the kids to bed by myself and hoping there wasn't poop on the bottom of my Converse. "What do you mean?"

Husband grunted and set the toilet back down, temporarily taking a break from the silent war. "It's impossible to line this thing back up with the bolts. I need your help."

Few things bring a couple closer together. War, famine, crapper placement. For the next fifteen minutes, we shoved the monstrosity back and forth.

"It must weigh three hundred pounds."

"Why can't I see the holes?"

"Woman, just get one of them lined up."

"You get yours lined up."

"I'll line you up."

"That doesn't even make sense."

"The baby's up."

"It's on you if he falls down the hole."

Finally, things lined up, bolts connected, and the toilet was back to its position of prominence.

Toilet ring: 11.00
New bolts:  2.00
The new owners not having to poop in an open hole in the floor: Priceless

Really, if number three on that list isn't a huge selling point, I don't know what we're going to do. Well, I know what I'll do.
Drinking caffeine and writing to the food pyramid people is an excellent time filler.

Until Next Time, Readers!

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