Well, you asked for it. So here it is! P.S…you didn’t ask for it. But my dad did. So sit down, relax, and read. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you…The Poop Fiasco of 2013.
The day started off like any completely normal Monday morning. I was sleeping until 7:30 when my dad flung my door open and reminded me not to press snooze sixteen times in row because doing that might make me late for work. I responded that I didn’t have to go to work that day and my alarm wasn’t going to be going off. Then….like on any given normal Monday, a very tall ladder was propped up against the wall of my bedroom, it was climbed, and hammering ensued. I was really happy about the events unfolding because, like I said, I had no work that day and was hoping to sleep in. My plan was playing out flawlessly…
After five minutes of trying to sleep through the hammering happening on the other side of my wall, I stumbled out of bed and grabbed my hot pink ear plugs. Please note, I feel like it’s really important to tell you that my ear plugs are hot pink. It speaks to my personality SO well. The ear plugs were a terrible idea. Who knew that they were made to block out the sound of snoring but not a hammer? I didn’t.
At eight thirty I tearfully waved goodbye to sleep and promised to visit again sometime soon and I headed downstairs. My mom and brother were down there, eating things like bacon and waffles and eggs freshly squeezed orange juice and French pressed coffee and just kidding about all that…but there was bacon.
My dad was of course, working outside on the back of the house…on the wall…right outside where my head lies when I’m in my bed….and Matt was outside helping off and on holding the ladder when need be.
Flash forward, around 9:00. Matt came in and was going to the bathroom. Nothing out of the ordinary…because that’s what people do. They use the bathroom. However, what was out of the ordinary was when Matt came out and asked my Mom: “When you plunge the toilet, is the contents inside just supposed to suck down or do you have to flush again?”
We looked at him with judgmental expressions of course and told him he’d most likely have to flush again. Right about this time, my dad was walking inside. We heard the toilet flush, and then something else that no one wants to hear. “Help! The water is about to go over the edge!” “Turn the water off!” My mom yelled back.
It took my dad only two seconds to realize what was going on before he sprinted down the hall to turn off the water…but he was too late. Matt’s poop…and toilet paper…and poop water had flooded the bathroom and a small part of the hall.
Before I continue with this…lovely and feminine and lady-like story. There’s something you should know. My dad is a gagger. On Halloween day this year, one of the pumpkins we’d carved a few days prior had rotted. He went to pick it up and his hand slipped through, he dropped it….and gagged probably 15 times in a matter of 30 seconds…he gags…easily.
Back to the story!
Obviously and naturally, the first thing to burst out of Matt’s mouth during the chaos was “IT WASN’T ME!!!!!” This, of course, confused all of us. Whose fault would it be? Mine, my moms? My dad began to gag as he grabbed rag towel after rag towel for he and Matt to start mopping up the water.
Meanwhile, I was in our family room about twenty feet down the hall huddled in a corner crying. See, there’s two reasons for this: one, I have emotional scars from accidentally locking myself inside of a unisex bathroom with a man who was in the midst of pooping. (Haven’t heard that story?) And two, I have OCD. And it’s not the Oh haha, aren’t I cute and quirky because I have self-diagnosed OCD? I have the legitimate, hard to deal, hard to live with me because I’m crazy, actually diagnosed, OCD.
My dad did the brunt of the clean-up, but when Matt had to carry the two rugs, and all the rag towels to the trash can, it was his turn to gag. And he did. Repeatedly. He is my Father’s son.
Long story short, they bleached every surface and non-surface of the bathroom and hallway, all door knobs, everything…and it still took me four days before I would enter that particular bathroom.
Love,
I have issues.
Love, Candace 