Posts Tagged ‘toilet’

Autopsy for a Dead Toilet 10-24-11

I have the best father-in-law in the world.  He likes me and I like him.   Eight years ago, he proposed to me by telling me I had to marry his daughter.  I did.  We visit him every few weeks and he pays for gas, groceries, and restaurants when we are by him.

There are no problems in my and my father-in-law’s relationship except one.  He lives in a cheaply constructed house.  I’m in construction (a house painter) and know bad work when I see it.  Whomever designed and built his house should be put in the Idiots Hall of Fame.   The Three Stooges couldn’t come up with the stupidities that this house has.  Every light switch is behind the door.  There is a five foot square bathroom with three doors that open up into it.  How can that be?  I have to close the other two just to open the one.  If I wanted to make money, I could sell tickets to his house as The Museum of the Stupidest House Ever Built.

His poorly built house has inserted a question mark into me and my father-in-law’s special relationship.  It seems that  my wife (his daughter) has branded me a “toilet clogger,” and no matter who clogs the toilet, everyone accuses me of doing it.  I’ll admit, I have clogged my share of domestic and international toilets, but I plunged this one and it shouldn’t have overflowed.  Seems my wife forgot that the toilet didn’t work, used it, loaded it, and flushed this toilet.  It flowed all over the second floor and poured down through the light fixture into the dining room.  How appetizing!

My father-in-law, a man in his mid 80’s, is a proud do-it-yourselfer. He lifted the toilet from the bathroom floor and carried it outside.  He isn’t a delicate man and things that bother me don’t bother him.  So, he didn’t care when the toilet sloshed it’s contents on the carpet as he manhandled it down the staircase.   There was some kind of primitive male one upsmanship going on here.  He shot me a look as he dragged the toilet downstairs.

The toilet sat on his front lawn the entire weekend for all the neighbors in the cul-de-sac to see and admire.  It also sat there proudly as a monument to the fragile state of our once strong bond.

Since my wife is my father-in-laws only daughter, she is perfect in his eyes.  Blame quickly turned to me as the clogger.  I insisted it wasn’t me who caused the trouble.  The only problem with his toilet was his daughter, but I wasn’t about to turn her in.  He was adamant that I was to blame and started to treat me differently.

His whole family (many cousins were at the house that weekend) argued about causation and blame.  Finally I suggested that an autopsy be performed on the toilet.  My wife agreed that this was the only way to find out if the toilet was defective or someone (fat and sloppy) clogged it.  Sometime later, when no one noticed, my father-in-law took a hammer to the back of the toilet and broke it open.

I didn’t see or hear the results of the autopsy.  My father-in-law didn’t say another word about it.  My wife didn’t say anything either.  Maybe it was me, maybe it wasn’t.  Either way, that problem causing toilet is dead and gone.

2-17-11 Women and a Man Taking a Dump.

Maybe because I’ve been working out for the last few days, I took a dump this morning.  Even a morning dump is a welcome development in my middle aged stressed out life.  Unfortunately, that private and somewhat special event wasn’t private this time.

As what felt like a glass studded tree stump slowly and painfully emerge from my rectum, I was robbed of my man moment when my wife flitted into the bathroom to happily list her days activities for me.   I didn’t request a listing of her daily activities and told her to leave the room.

What I find hard to understand isn’t that my anal sphincter quickly recovers from this trauma, or that my wife feels that I’m not entitled to any privacy,  but how my wife always wants to talk to me when I should be unavailable to her.  Is it her or all women who don’t understand?  I consistently have to banish her from my presence when I’m unloading my packed colon, how many times do we have to go through this exercise?  Is there something in the wife constitution that makes her want to be near me during this special man time?

My turd dramas don’t concern her and she happily tells me all the little things she has scheduled today.   After I finally got rid of her and looked forward to finishing up what I like to call “my quiet moments,” my daughter walks in holding her nose.  Now she has some questions for me.  I couldn’t order her away as I did my wife, and I answered her questions.

She told me to put down my magazine to hear what she had to say.  Maybe this is where little girls learn that they can speak to men in the middle of the quintessential man activity.