The Joys of Home Ownership

Toilet ScrubberSo, today… I thought it was about time that I clean my toilet. You see, I’m the type who only cleans about once a month and believes that’s more than adequate. I sometimes tell myself that I’m going to do better, but I really never do.

So I’m in there, scrubbing away, making everything all spotless, and I decide to stick the wand thing way down in there so that I get everything that can be gotten. I pull the wand out and you know what it’s missing? That stupid, non-flushable scrubber thing.

Being a home-own seems very glamorous until you have to get out the plunger. So I get it out and work away, and get the thing lodged even further back in there so that I can no longer see any part of it. So I’m like, “Hey – a true homeowner would really just stick her arm in there and get the thing out.” So I wince a little in preemptive shame and plunge right in (yeah PLUNGE I’m pretty clever). You know what, though? I can’t even feel the scrubber at all. So I turn my arm this way and that, and slide down in pretty far, and a vision of deepest shame pops into my head: there is an attractive, single Christian fireman there with me. He’s been called to extract my arm from my toilet. Wouldn’t that be the way of things. Determining that I’m not going to be “that girl” – the one with her arm stuck in a toilet, I quickly give up on being able to retrieve the scrubby thing, and I pull my hand out of that disgusting place I was trying to make less disgusting.

Then I think, maybe it isn’t so bad. Maybe it’ll just all work out. Yeah – because that’s how life is. I give the toilet a nice flush, and watch in sad defeat as the waterline rises slowly – luckily not to the point of overflowing.

Then, I look up what the do-it-yourselfers would do, and realize that I’m not that sort of girl either.

Thus, I wait for the ringing bell alerting me of the arrival of a non-fireman type who will hopefully solve all of my problems – for a small fee, of course.



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