OUR HOUSE

(Madness) (CSN&Y)

I have discovered an essential truth: the toilet plunger is not where you think it is.

A corollary: when needing a toilet plunger, you usually are seconds away from disaster.

Here's my story:

I take care of the houseplants. Most are thriving. The larger tropical one in the Master Bathroom seems to like it when I give it 3 quarts of water once a week. It tends to droop for several days till the watering. Well, today I noticed that it seems to be losing some of its long leaves. Since it's a pot within a pot, I thought a little exploring was in order so I lifted the inner from the outer. Inside was about 3 gallons of dark brown water, and the inner pot was leaking like a spigot.

No fool here, I held it over the sealed outer pot while it drained, then carefully plugged its one hole while I moved it to the sink to drain some more.

I hefted the large outer pot to the toilet and carefully poured, splashing only a little onto the white rug immediately at toilet front... where it will look like an 'accident.' Maybe I can blame the dog.

Nevertheless, I poured carefully, undaunted. And since I couldn't see into the dark brown water, imagine my surprise when a chunk or two of something splashed into the bowl!

I did what any man would do - I flushed my problems away.

The water rose.

The gurgling began.

I went for the plunger.

It was gone!

The water stopped centimeters from the lip - you know the one - the final lip of destiny and serious wifely disapproval.

Gurgle.

The water slowly sank in the bowl.

Manly men know that signals all clear. I flushed again.

The waters rose and rose. Maybe more weight of water would break the clog. I flush again, but the tank hadn't refilled entirely. Again, the gamble goes to the bowl... in other words, the water continues to rise.

I watch in horror.

It stops, again at the lip.

I search the plunger-lost house in my underpants. This all began after shaving and immediately before a shower. It's gone. Not in the back bathroom, not in closets or cabinets. I step into the recently named snake-motel, the garage, standing in the middle of the concrete, careful to not go too close to anything with anything under it, if you get my drift. I am figuratively (and almost literally) naked. But no plunger.

I fear the cleaning people mixed it up in their kit and took it away.

When you need a plunger you NEED it. Oh, it might sit for a year, but believe me, that wooden handle can make a big difference in your confidence when faced with an emergency.

Maybe if I flush enough the clog will break...