We're staying with one of Ronnie's brothers here in Chicago (read: way far northwest in Buffalo Grove). Their kids are away and so it's pretty quiet around here, and while it would be nice to see them, it's a bonus not to have to share a bathroom with two teenagers. But the toilet in that bathroom is broken. Good thing there's another one downstairs in the powder room. Right?
Um, yes, until that one begins exhibiting signs of indigestion. Um, yes, until that And the only plunger around is a little one not really suitable for the task. I, of course, was blissfully unaware of any of this until 4:30am when I wanted to go use said toilet.
[And now, without further adieu, here's Mr. Lentil Bowl to tell you the rest of the story: Its midnite, I'm the only one up, and there's not a plunger in site. All that my creative attempts at settling the toilet's tummy produce is even more water on the floor that is not likely to evaporate on its own. I'm tired, frustrated, and embarrassed, but, more importantly, I can't find any double-stuff Oreos. No, that's not it: more importantly, I'm concerned that Mrs. Lentil Bowl will not be a happy camper if perchance she ventures downstairs in the middle of the night. Me, I can do necessary things with the help of a plastic cup, but her unspeakable things might require venturing outside and risking arrest for disturbing the peas (or whatever flora she's hiding behind). Fortunately, my sister-in-law is an early riser and, armed with a manly plunger, I performed a most manly--and most excellent--plunging.
That's all, folks. Mr. Lentil Bowl has to go. . . . And when you gotta go, you gotta go. ]
We now return to our reglularly written blog entry:
Ronnie clued me in and described his efforts thus far, which included an exhaustive search for an appropriate plunger, staying awake to warn anyone who may venture down to use that toilet, and making sure that any double-stuffed oreos found wandering lonely around the house were helped to feel safe and sound and protected.
The thing is, when you have to "go" at 4:30 in the morning, you don't really feel like waiting a few hours until the homeowners wake up to either use their bathroom or ask where the real plungers are. (Ronnie's a skilled and experienced plungist, he just needed the correct implement.) And there aren't so many trees with privacy in their neighborhood, if you know
what I mean.
And now, I gotta go!