When Good Toilets Turn Bad

Warning - This post may contain disturbing information. Please do not read while eating.


I am not a particularly materialistic person. My wardrobe is spartan (except for the excessive number of running shoes). I don't spend a lot of money on our household décor. I don't have to have the latest and greatest of anything really - as long as what I have is doing the job, I'm pretty happy.

But lately I've become quite covetous of one particular item. I want it. I need it! I have to have it!! I sometimes dream that I've got it and wake up bitterly disappointed - like a reverse nightmare.

And what is this wonderful thing that I must possess? I want one of these ...

I lust after the latest lavatory. I covet a new commode. I long to perch my posterior on  pure, pristine, polished porcelain. (And nothing says DESIRE quite like alliteration)

Okay, I actually do already have an indoors, flushing toilet. It's been quite a few years since I last had to use one of these ... 

But my toilet has seen better days. It leaks a little at the back. There are memories of meals past that can not be removed despite litres of bleach and DOMS-inducing scrubbing. And, worst of all, it's started to have a few, shall we say, ISSUES when it comes to flushing.

Yesterday I went to use the toilet (we're all human, so there's no need to be shocked). There were a few things floating in it and I decided that one of the boys had been a little lax in his flushing (ie - hadn't bothered to press the button). I'm not a princess and I'm happy to conserve water so I decided to use it regardless and kill two birds with one stone - or a number one and a number two with one flush.

It wasn't until I pressed the button that I realised that the previous donor hadn't been slack or forgetful. The toilet was having a severe dose of Monday-itis and was refusing to perform its normal duties. The water level rose disturbingly high and with it came all the flotsam that was yesterday's dinner and disintegrated toilet paper. 

It stopped just short of flowing over. Phew.

But I was the only one at home so I was going to have to deal with it. Damn!

I have stuck my arm up the rectum of horses and cows before, so giving the toilet s-bend a bit of a poke with the toilet brush isn't too much of a stretch. Or it wasn't until I dropped the brush in all that brown, lumpy water. 

There are days that I wished I'd kept my to-the-armpit rubber glove. I had to plunge my hand into that-which-cannot-be-named and grab my wet toilet brush to complete the unblocking operation. 

Pass the disinfectant please.

So when Iven got home yesterday the first thing I did was make him pledge his undying love to me by promising me a new loo. He agreed. And we can continue to live happily ever after :)

P.S. to Youngie and Andrew - your cakes were made before all this happened so you can eat up without fear of E Coli.