Decide that I need to go and see what the kids are up to upstairs. Quiet is unsettling. Their rooms are connected by a bathroom, so I walk by. Smell something. Holy crap (no, really)! Another surprise! This time, I say something.
Me: Guys? Who went to the bathroom and did not flush?
John: Victoria!
Victoria: I did not! You always blame me for everything! (insert mandatory crying here)
Sound familiar anyone?
Me: Well, I am pretty sure that I did not do this. I am also certain that the dogs, cats or snake (yes, people. My son has a corn snake and it is pretty much the best pet ever.) didn't do this. Your dad is out of town, so he is out. One of you had to do it.
Both: Well, it wasn't me (in stereo).
Oh, well. I have not had enough coffee to start a full-on investigation, so I leave it for later.
The kids and I head to the basement to clean it up. They take the play and tv area and I take the bathroom/bedroom area. You know where I am going with this, right?
Yes. There was poop in the toilet. Only this poop? It had been left there for a long time. Long enough to disintegrate in the water, leaving it a lovely mud-brown mess. Also long enough that the rim required four (four!) rounds of scrubbing. Really? I don't do toilets. Seriously. Ask anyone who knows me about how I gag (serious gagging with bile at my throat and having to walk away and breathe, just breathe for god's sake it's just a goddamn toilet, Lisa) at the thought of toilets. I would make the best bulimic person on the planet earth, because all I have to do is lean my head close to a toilet and......... but I love my food. In my stomach. Digesting. So that won't ever happen.
I was going to take a picture, but figured that I would not put all (4) of you through the grossosity (is that a word?) that are my toilets and my children.
We pay good money for these children to go to private school. We make them read every night before bed. We cut off television at a reasonable hour. We pay money for tutoring. You would think that their brain synapses would have the sense to send a signal down to their nasty little buggery-poo ridden hands to perform a simple task of FLUSHING. Apparently that is just too much for them. Poor little retarded things.
So, 3 out of 5 toilets makes it 2/3rds, right? Or is it 3/5ths? I am brilliant at the math. I am thinking of home schooling them. They won't learn anything. But, by God, they will learn to flush the damn toilet.
3 comments:
Oh good holy lord. I don't like to do toilets either. I associate having my face too close to a toilet, or even looking too closely at a toilet WITH THE ACT OF VOMITING and who wants to be reminded of that??? The only thing I can say, in the quest for a silver lining, is that at least the late-discovered poops were actually IN the toilets. 'Cause, ya know, I guess it could have been worse?
Uh...maybe?
(OOh. What is a corn snake? Must Google!)
Googled and have discovered that corn snakes are awesome! Docile. Maize pattern on their skins. (Hence the name.) Cool with people. And it's a good thing you like yours since they live up to *23 years* in captivity.
Yikes! that is a long-ass time!
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