Journal of a Living Lady #155
Nancy White Kelly
I knew in an instant that it was going to
be a bad day. I heard something drop just as I flushed the toilet. My eyes
couldn’t focus on anything in the swirling water until the last gurgle.
Instantly I gasped in horror. On the way to who knows where, my reading glasses
were disappearing from sight. I grabbed
at them with the enthusiasm of a football player reaching for a last second,
game-winning touchdown. All I got in return was a soggy bathrobe cuff and the
knowledge that Buddy was not going to be a happy man.
I debated whether to tell him. After all,
Charlie and his fiancée, Tori, were coming for a one-night visit. Buddy was in
an unusually good mood. We needed some cheering up after nearly three weeks of
a traveling marathon to the far-away radiation facilities.
I flushed the toilet again and again.
Nothing seemed amiss, so I decided to let Buddy in on the mishap. He wasn’t
happy, of course, and flushed the toilet himself a few times. He was satisfied
that it wasn’t necessary to tear out the plumbing today at least. But,
alas, our optimism was short-lived.
After bedtime, Charlie darted through our
bedroom to our adjacent bathroom. He dashed out again with plunger in hand. We
knew.
A guy soon to be married doesn’t need
something like that to deal with, especially with his bride-to-be in the
family guest room. I explained to Charlie what had happened that morning; He
shrugged his shoulders in disbelief, partly because this was happening to him
and partially because we hadn’t warned him. His Dad got up and worked on the
toilet himself for a while. The plunging was futile, so Buddy declared the
guest bathroom off limits. Thankfully, the plumbing still worked in our little
bathroom.
The next day we contemplated calling a
plumber. Then Buddy remembered that he had an ancient rotor rooter in the
outbuilding. While Charlie, Tori, and I watched television, we could hear the
roar of the little motor drilling its way into septotory. Buddy’s goal was to
push the reading glasses past whatever crook or cranny they were apparently
lodged in.
After nearly an hour, Buddy passed
through the den with a smirky look of success. I felt the plop of the
half-rimmed eyeglasses in my lap. Amazingly, the drugstore spectacles were
totally unscathed by the journey. No bends. No scratches. Charlie was relieved.
So was I. The guest bathroom was again ready for business.
Buddy got a well-deserved back rub that
night while the glasses soaked in disinfectant. No doubt Charlie will tell this
story to his children someday.
+++++++++
March 14, 2002
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