ABOUT ME

About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

I am woman, hear me flush

After my spider killing spree (hey, eight legs make it a spree), I got a serious case of woman-balls and decided to attack something that has been plaguing my family: the toilet seat.

Yes, our toilet seat has been a frightening place to perch these past few months. The things that hold the seat onto the toilet (they have a technical name, but that comes later) constantly come loose, and if you sit down on the seat and your butt cheeks are just a little askew, the seat slips and you fall off. (Yep, can't imagine why my mother and mother-in-law call our house a death trap.)

Even worse, every time I've asked Chuck to fix it, he's sighed like it was some major undertaking.

It was these heavy-winded sighs that have kept me from asking what the job actually entailed. He had me thinking there were multiple tools involved. A blow torch maybe? Surely spackle or lube. Perhaps a toilet troll whose favor we needed to win?

The sighs were so bad I even started apologizing before I asked him for his services.

"Honey, I hate to ask again but could you possibly—please?—fix the toilet again? My mother fell off and hit her head mid-stream. She's, um, covered in urine and crying. Pretty please?"

"Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh."

Then, yesterday morning, after Chuck went to work, Junior called to me from the bathroom to say that the seat was sliding around again.

I decided to take matters into my own hands.

"Stand aside, Junior."

I lifted up the white things behind the seat. I expected to find a labyrinth of gizmos and gadgets—or a mouse spinning on a wheel at least—but no, there were just...screws. Plain old screws.




I felt underneath the screws, just to make sure I wasn't missing something. A piece that needed to be soddered perhaps? A locker padlock? Something! There had to be something more than screws to make my handyman husband sigh so!

Nope.

Just two plain old screws.

I grabbed a....screwdriver.


Then I held the bottom of the screw while tightening the screw's head. I did this until the damn thing wouldn't move anymore.

Approximate duration of repair: 30 seconds. 

"Jump on," I told Junior. He did. "Now wiggle for me." He did that too.

The seat didn't budge.

The easy conclusion to draw here is that when we take matters into our own hands, it is quite liberating to discover we can reach a solution all by ourselves. QUITE. The not-so-easy conclusions have been running through my mind like a broken record for the last two days:

"That's it? Why the sighs? That's it? Just screws? That's it? Why the sighs? That's it? Just screws?"

Chuck, I'm calling you out on this blog. You have one day to respond. Ok, two, since tomorrow's a holiday.

(Happy 4th of July!)

10 comments:

Patty Woodland said...

Maybe he just didn't know.....

Mom of A and a said...

I'd say, he's screwed!! :P

Gorilla Bananas said...

If Chuck doesn't feel ashamed after reading this, he ought to be doubly ashamed. You should get a t-shirt with the slogan "I do his screwing for him!" on it.

Sparkling said...

See, it's too easy. That's why the sighs. He only gets to brandish the screwdriver. NOthing crazy like a torch or the soldering gun or anything that also induces the cracking open of a beer. We had this problem forever until I got a new seat. And now the new seat is a little too small so there's a little lip of extra toilet at the front. It's great for catching things.... Oh how gross, sorry.

Lidian said...

You are invincible!

I need to try this, we have a minor version of them, ahem, problem.

Thank you so much for visiting Kitchen Retro and reminding me how much I adore your writing - I've put you in my Blogs bookmark thingie. You see the pattern here - absentmindedness, etc.

I blame the hot weather (my present catch-all excuse)

SmartBear said...

This is a CONSTANT thing in my house. Because shortly after getting married, the feminist in me choked on romantic bliss and I can't do anything by myself. It's ridiculous. Don't fall for that sighing crap. My husband does it all the time and it usually means they just would rather do something else. Because since having a kid, their macho-"man-make-fire-and-DIY" stuff goes dead.
You are my hero for fixing that toilet seat.
Best,
Tina

Texan Mama @ Who Put Me In Charge said...

Love this. How funny. I replaced the toilet seat in our bathroom last week, which promptly caused the toilet to quit working. Not that the seat has anything to do with the functioning of the toilet flushing, but it's just Murphy's Law, ya know? Nice new jump seat, crappy flusher.

Mrs. Tuna said...

Before you know it you'll be taking down gazelles with your bare hands. Roar.

The Bearded Iris said...

I love this and your woman balls! Good for you, girl! So damn funny (including the image of your mother hitting her head midstream...OMG!)

Leanne said...

We have a saying in our house - either I do it, I pay someone else to do it or it doesn't get done. Yep, it's the reason I've been married twenty years, I. just. gave. up. Sigh.