The Orange
Often times things just don't "occur" to me. It's not that I do them on purpose, it just never "occurs to me" there is a different way or there may be a consequence. For example, the time I burned the stovetop from the INSIDE OUT. It never occurred to me that could happen if you were using all four burners on medium-high to high. Otherwise I wouldn't have done it. I just assumed the stovetop could handle the temps it could produce. Or when I was starting to drive and I pulled out in front of the car with its blinker on. It never "occurred to me" that the car wasn't turning. If it had, I wouldn't have pulled out and wrecked the car. I would have waited. I assumed that the car had its blinker on because it was going to turn; after all that's what I learned in driver's ed. As I stood in the shower Tuesday night watching the water rise up to my ankles, it "occurred to me" that I probably shouldn't have flushed that orange down the toilet. But I'm getting ahead of myself....
When I moved in, I asked to set up camp down in the basement. It’s quiet down there. It’s private. And most importantly there’s a small bathroom/laundry room with a shower, toilet, pedestal sink and a washer and dryer. It’s small space, but it’s mine and I love it. David recently painted it a light tan and the chocolate brown and baby blue accents are just perfect! I love it down there. I can set up all my lotions and potions, soaps and curlers. I can hang my bras to dry on the hook by the shower and leave my razors, earrings and perfume bottles around at will. It’s my private place – free of males and all they bring to a bathroom. I love it down there, have I mentioned that? There is no counter space, no giant place to lay everything out, no room to really move around. So, I put a lot of things on the back of the toilet (like my curlers) and use that as a table as I get ready in the morning. But I don't complain - I enjoy my "girly", private, quiet space very, VERY much!
Tuesday morning I was running late. Okay, I run late every morning, but I was especially lazy this morning and got up 5 minutes later than my “Okay, I have to get up NOW” time. Oh, one more thing to note: I get my workout; I hit the stairs every morning. The bedroom, ironing board and ½ of my closet is on the second floor. The kitchen is on the first and my bathroom and second ½ of my closet is in the basement. So my morning looks something like this: Slink from the bedroom down all the way down to the basement. Start getting ready. Need to iron pants, so back up, up to the second floor. Turn on iron. Back down to the basement. In the middle of getting ready think I really should put the coffee on. Back up and then down after coffee starts brewing. OH NO…my “whatever” is in the top closet. I’m a little more awake now and have the capacity to multi-task, so I take the pants up and iron, grab the “whatever” I need and head back down. Again, being more awake by the minute, I realize I’m in the kitchen and at this point can make toast or grab a cup of coffee or on this particular day, an orange to eat. I peel, grab the freshly ironed pants and shoes and head back to the basement eating segment after segment in an attempt to have breakfast and finish getting ready (which should really take 30 minutes) in about 10 minutes. I head down and drop my load in the chair, walk into the bathroom and toss about a ¼ of the uneaten orange in the trash. Except I miss the trash and the orange falls into the toilet. I look down – oops – flush and continue to the sink to curl my hair. I pull it together and head out the door only 10 minutes late – not too bad.
For all that “action” in the morning, I actually shower and wash my hair at night. I have all I can handle in the morning as it is. So, most days I walk in the door, hug my husband and head right to the basement to clean up. I shower and do my hair, fresh makeup and come out smelling like a rose! I’m probably the only girl in CT who gets ready for the day at 6:00pm. One of the things that can change that schedule is a lovely warm night out on the deck. (Especially since fall is approaching so quickly!! UGH!). If I can, I skip all that and we cook and eat outside, maybe play a game of Qwirkle on the patio table and then shower after. Tuesday was such a night. It was hot and Evan needed to shower too, so I ran down while David was wrangling him away from the Wii and to take a quick shower.
There I was, just showering away, when I noticed the water wasn’t exactly draining very quickly. I figured my hair had clogged yet another drain and I was going to have to ask David if he could clean it out. I kept showering and noticed that it REALLY wasn’t draining at all and every second I was standing there, it was getting deeper and deeper. There’s only a small lip on the side of the shower and then it would be all over the floor. I jumped out and toweled off. Oh well. “I’M DONE!” I yelled up and heard an “OKAY!” and four scampering feet up the stairs to take Evan’s shower. I went back in the bathroom to continue my evening ritual when I noticed the toilet was full – I mean all the way to the top. And it didn’t really smell all that great either. What happened? I got dressed and went to the storage room and grabbed the plunger. David was occupied with Evan. They’d never know. I could handle this. I tried and tried to make that water go down and it wasn’t going anywhere. But the smell seemed to be getting worse and worse.
I'd be lying if I said I didn’t think about just going up to bed. Who’d know. We can deal with it tomorrow. Maybe it would drain overnight. But then the toilet began to overflow and I knew I’d be in SO MUCH trouble if I let it go. I walked upstairs to find a hot, frustrated man in no mood for this tonight. I almost turned back around. Really. I thought about. I could just put down a lot of towels. I’ll run to the store tomorrow and get some Drain-O or something. But decided the wise thing to do would be to fess up. “There’s something wrong with the plumbing in the bathroom” I eeked out. I got “the look”, a huff and quickly followed my husband downstairs. All I really remember next is hearing David say “the motor isn't working – it isn’t pumping the water out.” “Motor?” I say, “There’s a motor…..on the toilet?” The heat, the smell, the tired husband. It wasn’t good. But I knew I’d been caught. “I didn’t know there was a motor,” I say quietly. “I think I know what it is.” “What?” David asks half listening to me and half looking at the wall. “I flushed an orange down the toilet this morning. The fibers must have caught in the motor. I’m so sorry.” I don’t really remember what was said next. No yelling, no swearing, nothing like that. Not our way. But there was “tension” and I HATE tension like that. My eyes welled up. David went up to finish putting Evan down and what happened next wasn’t pretty. I grabbed a pitcher and filled it up time and time again with water walked it up the stairs to the kitchen sink. Poured it in. Walked back down. When the pitcher couldn't do it anymore, I filled a plastic cup with water and then filled the pitcher that way and then walked it up. Over and over, teared up, so sorry that I been careless. BUT IT NEVER OCCURRED TO ME that a very small peeled piece of orange would ruin a toilet. IT NEVER OCCURRED TO ME that a toilet would have a motor! IT NEVER OCCURRED TO ME that it cost several hundred dollars to repair. I would have reached down and thrown it out. It wasn’t a big, huge, unpeeled, monster orange…..it was a few peeled slices….I mean when you stop to think……well, anyway….. IT NEVER OCCURRED TO ME! I poured bleach and cleaner in the toilet and sink. I bleached the kitchen sink and the pitcher. I changed clothes and washed up in the other bathroom and walked down to email Mom and Dad what I had done. I felt really bad. I should have known better, but how? How was I to know that a toilet had a motor? Who had ever heard of such a thing?
I got Mom’s email the next morning and among other things, was this “I can’t tell you how hard your father laughed when I told him you flushed an orange down the toilet.” David called the plumber and took a half day. I could just cringe thinking about David asking off work. “My wife flushed an orange down the toilet” I could hear him say. But he had the plumber come out and fix the motor. You see, evidently, if you have a basement bathroom, you are below the sewer line. So, you have to pump the water up just to get it to where it needs to be….HOW WOULD A GIRL FROM TEXAS KNOW THAT?? IT WOULD HAVE NEVER OCCURRED TO ME!! Our water flows down! You see what I mean? If I had KNOWN there was a motor, I might have been more careful. I drove home and pulled in. “What's the damage?” I said. The motor was easily replaced and the service was good. He even fixed my basement heat while he was down there. Score! The culprit? Not the orange at all. The orange went right through just fine. There was however, a hair pin from my curlers! That had done the trick. It had accidentally fallen in months ago and I hadn’t thought a thing about it. For some reason it decided to break the motor now. Something as small as that had consumed so much time, anxiety and money! A hair clip!
Needless to say, the toilet lid will stay down so nothing falls in accidently, I won’t be flushing anything down it but toilet paper and it’s going to be a LONG TIME before I eat another orange!
When I moved in, I asked to set up camp down in the basement. It’s quiet down there. It’s private. And most importantly there’s a small bathroom/laundry room with a shower, toilet, pedestal sink and a washer and dryer. It’s small space, but it’s mine and I love it. David recently painted it a light tan and the chocolate brown and baby blue accents are just perfect! I love it down there. I can set up all my lotions and potions, soaps and curlers. I can hang my bras to dry on the hook by the shower and leave my razors, earrings and perfume bottles around at will. It’s my private place – free of males and all they bring to a bathroom. I love it down there, have I mentioned that? There is no counter space, no giant place to lay everything out, no room to really move around. So, I put a lot of things on the back of the toilet (like my curlers) and use that as a table as I get ready in the morning. But I don't complain - I enjoy my "girly", private, quiet space very, VERY much!
Tuesday morning I was running late. Okay, I run late every morning, but I was especially lazy this morning and got up 5 minutes later than my “Okay, I have to get up NOW” time. Oh, one more thing to note: I get my workout; I hit the stairs every morning. The bedroom, ironing board and ½ of my closet is on the second floor. The kitchen is on the first and my bathroom and second ½ of my closet is in the basement. So my morning looks something like this: Slink from the bedroom down all the way down to the basement. Start getting ready. Need to iron pants, so back up, up to the second floor. Turn on iron. Back down to the basement. In the middle of getting ready think I really should put the coffee on. Back up and then down after coffee starts brewing. OH NO…my “whatever” is in the top closet. I’m a little more awake now and have the capacity to multi-task, so I take the pants up and iron, grab the “whatever” I need and head back down. Again, being more awake by the minute, I realize I’m in the kitchen and at this point can make toast or grab a cup of coffee or on this particular day, an orange to eat. I peel, grab the freshly ironed pants and shoes and head back to the basement eating segment after segment in an attempt to have breakfast and finish getting ready (which should really take 30 minutes) in about 10 minutes. I head down and drop my load in the chair, walk into the bathroom and toss about a ¼ of the uneaten orange in the trash. Except I miss the trash and the orange falls into the toilet. I look down – oops – flush and continue to the sink to curl my hair. I pull it together and head out the door only 10 minutes late – not too bad.
For all that “action” in the morning, I actually shower and wash my hair at night. I have all I can handle in the morning as it is. So, most days I walk in the door, hug my husband and head right to the basement to clean up. I shower and do my hair, fresh makeup and come out smelling like a rose! I’m probably the only girl in CT who gets ready for the day at 6:00pm. One of the things that can change that schedule is a lovely warm night out on the deck. (Especially since fall is approaching so quickly!! UGH!). If I can, I skip all that and we cook and eat outside, maybe play a game of Qwirkle on the patio table and then shower after. Tuesday was such a night. It was hot and Evan needed to shower too, so I ran down while David was wrangling him away from the Wii and to take a quick shower.
There I was, just showering away, when I noticed the water wasn’t exactly draining very quickly. I figured my hair had clogged yet another drain and I was going to have to ask David if he could clean it out. I kept showering and noticed that it REALLY wasn’t draining at all and every second I was standing there, it was getting deeper and deeper. There’s only a small lip on the side of the shower and then it would be all over the floor. I jumped out and toweled off. Oh well. “I’M DONE!” I yelled up and heard an “OKAY!” and four scampering feet up the stairs to take Evan’s shower. I went back in the bathroom to continue my evening ritual when I noticed the toilet was full – I mean all the way to the top. And it didn’t really smell all that great either. What happened? I got dressed and went to the storage room and grabbed the plunger. David was occupied with Evan. They’d never know. I could handle this. I tried and tried to make that water go down and it wasn’t going anywhere. But the smell seemed to be getting worse and worse.
I'd be lying if I said I didn’t think about just going up to bed. Who’d know. We can deal with it tomorrow. Maybe it would drain overnight. But then the toilet began to overflow and I knew I’d be in SO MUCH trouble if I let it go. I walked upstairs to find a hot, frustrated man in no mood for this tonight. I almost turned back around. Really. I thought about. I could just put down a lot of towels. I’ll run to the store tomorrow and get some Drain-O or something. But decided the wise thing to do would be to fess up. “There’s something wrong with the plumbing in the bathroom” I eeked out. I got “the look”, a huff and quickly followed my husband downstairs. All I really remember next is hearing David say “the motor isn't working – it isn’t pumping the water out.” “Motor?” I say, “There’s a motor…..on the toilet?” The heat, the smell, the tired husband. It wasn’t good. But I knew I’d been caught. “I didn’t know there was a motor,” I say quietly. “I think I know what it is.” “What?” David asks half listening to me and half looking at the wall. “I flushed an orange down the toilet this morning. The fibers must have caught in the motor. I’m so sorry.” I don’t really remember what was said next. No yelling, no swearing, nothing like that. Not our way. But there was “tension” and I HATE tension like that. My eyes welled up. David went up to finish putting Evan down and what happened next wasn’t pretty. I grabbed a pitcher and filled it up time and time again with water walked it up the stairs to the kitchen sink. Poured it in. Walked back down. When the pitcher couldn't do it anymore, I filled a plastic cup with water and then filled the pitcher that way and then walked it up. Over and over, teared up, so sorry that I been careless. BUT IT NEVER OCCURRED TO ME that a very small peeled piece of orange would ruin a toilet. IT NEVER OCCURRED TO ME that a toilet would have a motor! IT NEVER OCCURRED TO ME that it cost several hundred dollars to repair. I would have reached down and thrown it out. It wasn’t a big, huge, unpeeled, monster orange…..it was a few peeled slices….I mean when you stop to think……well, anyway….. IT NEVER OCCURRED TO ME! I poured bleach and cleaner in the toilet and sink. I bleached the kitchen sink and the pitcher. I changed clothes and washed up in the other bathroom and walked down to email Mom and Dad what I had done. I felt really bad. I should have known better, but how? How was I to know that a toilet had a motor? Who had ever heard of such a thing?
I got Mom’s email the next morning and among other things, was this “I can’t tell you how hard your father laughed when I told him you flushed an orange down the toilet.” David called the plumber and took a half day. I could just cringe thinking about David asking off work. “My wife flushed an orange down the toilet” I could hear him say. But he had the plumber come out and fix the motor. You see, evidently, if you have a basement bathroom, you are below the sewer line. So, you have to pump the water up just to get it to where it needs to be….HOW WOULD A GIRL FROM TEXAS KNOW THAT?? IT WOULD HAVE NEVER OCCURRED TO ME!! Our water flows down! You see what I mean? If I had KNOWN there was a motor, I might have been more careful. I drove home and pulled in. “What's the damage?” I said. The motor was easily replaced and the service was good. He even fixed my basement heat while he was down there. Score! The culprit? Not the orange at all. The orange went right through just fine. There was however, a hair pin from my curlers! That had done the trick. It had accidentally fallen in months ago and I hadn’t thought a thing about it. For some reason it decided to break the motor now. Something as small as that had consumed so much time, anxiety and money! A hair clip!
Needless to say, the toilet lid will stay down so nothing falls in accidently, I won’t be flushing anything down it but toilet paper and it’s going to be a LONG TIME before I eat another orange!
Comments
J :)
p.s. and what an awesome husband, points for David!!!
J :)