Three fairly pointless items, which are related to the parts where you are welcome to imagine us running amok in our house in classic slapstick fashion.
Thing #1: Maytag blue cheese atop a slab of home-made corn bread is really, really good - this may not be news to any of you, but the contrast between the lightly sweet corn flavor and the pleasantly pungent blue is deee-licious!
Thing #2: I've just now started to watch Desperate Housewives...so far, I can only see it as 'what might have happened if the girls from Sex in the City move to the 'burbs.' Am somewhat confused about the little gardener boy (Jon? John?) calling the chick whos' lawn he's trimming, (go ahead and take it like that, yes, do) "Mrs. Solis". I'm pretty sure the whole Mr./Mrs. bit goes out the window once you've seen each others' O face.
Thing #3: I'm hopelessly in love with those disposable toilet scrubby things - I know they're terrible for the environment and in penance, vow to cloth diaper Jimmy (really, you need to read that link, because... Jonniker! awesome! funny! all posts titled after songs!) for a good couple of months in penance for my sins. So, onto the reason why I'm Throwing in the Towel(s):
Our house is almost eighty years old; thankfully the plumbing has been redone - I'm not sure exactly when. Since we moved in to 'our' portion of the house six years ago, I've noticed a few little quirks, but the house works. So what if that one cabinet never, ever stays shut? Who cares if half the windows won't stay up? This is character - and folks pay dearly for it, all the time. And our habit of running into the bathroom* after everyone who visits it to jiggle the handle? It's got nothing to do with the fact that unless we (Scott) do(es) the jiggling, the toilet will run. Forever and ever, until the toilet overfloweth, causing havoc and yuckiness. Naturally, this cranky commode has its' own special rules list, as follows: 1. No large bits of paper, foreign bodies, or overly heavy thoughts. 2. No multiple flushing, and thou shalt jiggle ye olde handle twice; not three, not one, but two times. Or it shall run like this woman.
In case you were wondering, it is completely impervious to plumbers (see Thing #2) We've had two or three come out, wave their tools over it and pronounce it fixed, and leave. Much like a car, it behaves well in front of professionals and rebels a week or two later. Earlier today, I was of the fact I work from home, spiffed up our ever-cranky commode (see Thing #3) carefully jiggled the handle, and hopped in the shower. A few minutes later, I was rinsing the margarita scented lather out of my hair. After being up till four last night, I was probably thinking about some silly plotline of Thing #2 when I heard the sound of...water. Water, gently lapping up against the shores of...? I poked my head out, jiggled the handle and FREAKED. OUT. As it turns out, that gentle sound of water splat! slash!ing around...was the (expletive) toilet running over. Way, way, way over. Onto the...tile. Soaking the bathmat, sleekly undulating out onto the hall carpet, curving around a doorway and into our office. They say water seeks a its own level, but I say, water seeks the electronics.
I lept from the shower, yanked my towel and the others onto the floor. I yelled for Scott, who rushed in and started shouting questions about the condition of the water and what the hell was I doing, how this happened and who knows what. Somehow, we managed to a) use every single available, freshly-washed towel in the house and b) still not soak up the Lake Titicaca that was seeping into my carpet pad. After a lot of hullaballo, mayhem, trauma and laundry (still not all done, thanks) we finally managed to make sense of things. My newfound love for Thing#3 and general bad sense of timing likely combined and clogged the drain. As is usual for me on Days Like These, I had a bunch of other things to do, most of which was managed. All of which led to the necessary invention of Thing #1. Mmmmmm blue cheeeeeeeeese on cornbread.