To plunge or not to plunge
What a glorious thing it is, the plunger. What a not so glorious thing it is to remember that you don’t have one. To make it even worse, this latest realization came just moments after the deciding vote to head to bed had been made.
“What? We don’t have a plunger?”, asked Lori.
“No. I never needed one before. I’m a man dang it. Hold on, let me go flush it a few more times.”
And so I scurry off to make a fruitless attempt to free the unforgiving beast that is the toilet from it’s “unworthy to be in my body” contents. But as the prior sentence states, it was fruitless. No amount of pleading or flushing or yelling obscenities was going to get this plaster devil to give in.
“Can you hold it?” I asked Lori, desperately hoping she would give an answer that would allow us to get in bed.
“uh, no. I have to use it now, and it’s not like I can go outside.”
“. . . it’s dark.”
Needless to say, yet I’ll say it anyways, that we were then forced by the evil toiltet (or perhaps the little man inside of it) to venture out into the dark night to find that which would relieve us of our newly found burden.
After thirty minutes and several Kroger’s, we returned victorious to slay the beast that had become our toilet. And it was slain well I might add. Yet as righteous as I may wield this weapon, I do hope beyond all hope that last night will be the last time it must be unsheathed.
PS.
Lori thought this was all rather amusing, an adventure she calls it. She had an enormous smile on her face the whole time. O to be young again.
Tags: obscenities, plunger, toilet
February 23rd, 2008 at 12:59 am
but i thought she was “stuck in adulthood” as you said in your first post. how can she be young and an adult at the same time? explain that mister smarty pants.
February 23rd, 2008 at 10:29 am
because she is younger than me and acts like an adult and yells at me to stop climbing on things and finds plunger buying exciting. That is what makes her adulty, and because my age is higher than hers on the math scale is why she is younger than me. Your younger than me too, so if you start telling me to stop climbing on things I’ll call you a young adult. You guys can read Goosebumps books together and talk gossip over hot chocolate in your jammies.