Bogged Up, not down

I am one of those people that cannot do my business in anyone else’s toilet besides my own and a select few others, for example; my mom, B’s house or sometime at my dad. But only when everyone is far away and very busy so that I know I wont be missed. I can then poo in peace.

This weekend, I added someone to that list, that would be Kimbo’s boyfriends farm house. It is huge, therefore I felt comfortable (and very desperate) enough to do my thang. Except I didn’t bargain on the toilet not flushing.

I couldn’t ask Kimbo what to do as I had bargained on everyone busying themselves in the kitchen having coffee, and not noticing that I wasn’t there. Eyeing out that top bit of the toilet, I decide that it can’t be too difficult to make it flush, right? Wrong.

The minute I pulled the pump thingy up, I knew I had made the gravest of errors. Without hesitation, the murky water in the toilet bowl started rising. And rising and rising and rising.

Dear Moses, what had I done? The water was now flowing out from under the toilet seat and onto the floor, all over my blue and white cloud printed jarmies. I stood there in a blind panic, now they would surely know. How utterly embarrassing! In a flash of brilliance, I was smart enough to push the plastic balloon thing back so the flood stopped mid air.

Aside from the toilet paper roll I had just dropped on the floor and into the water (which had now drenched the bathroom mat and tiles), there was nothing I could use to clean up. Except for what was in the bathroom next door. Holding up the bottom of my pants, I silently tip toe down the corridor to the next bathroom, leaving a trail of wet footprints, and grab a handful of dirty towels from the laundry basket.

Satisfied the floor is at least dry, I pop into my bedroom and change the clothes which are now soaking wet. I didn’t want to, but knew I had to admit to what had just happened. Which happened to be over breakfast in the dining room, where everyone was snacking on bacon and eggs.

Kimbo’s bf Wallnut starting giggling as soon as I told my tale, until he was reminded that as he had not bothered to have the toilet fixed weeks ago, he would be the one to unblock the godforsaken thing.

Amoungst much laughter, he performed a brilliant running commentry to us (still eating bacon and eggs at the table) of each function and movement he was making, through the walls of the house. Colours, textures, look-a-likes, barfing sounds and blocked-nose syllables.

"Gross, Sheena – it looks like a kidney!"
"Omygod, I think it just gave birth to another one!"
"Yup, thats definately a spawn of the last one"
"Di doo eat buch bexican food?"

I am never going to be able to live this down or, more importantly, be able to poo anywhere in peace again.