Struggling through with joy... |
kind of.
Struggling through with joy... |
It often happens when I am making dinner and I am most stressed about time. I run into the bathroom to pee, flush the toilet with the carefree attitude of a woman whose plumbing always works, and hear the telltale splashing on the floor as I wash my hands. The curses begin, screams of rage so loud my husband comes running in a panic, the children gather at the door to see my holding our bath mat aloft and pointing at the toilet. The terrible, terrible toilet.
Our house isn’t that old. It was built midway through the last century, a simple house for midcentury middle-class folks. It isn’t a fancy house but it’s good enough; warm and snug in the winter, sunlight streaming in the back door every morning, just small enough to be cleaned manageably but large enough to escape each other, when needed. I love our little house, but sometimes, our little house doesn’t love us. The master bathroom, where the dreaded toilet resides, was added recently. In spite of this, the toilet looks old, the seat chipped in a way that makes me wonder if the people who lived here before had especially sharp tushies. Did they install a second-hand toilet, some gem found in the backyard of a neighbor’s house? Why, whenever it rains, do the toilet and the washing machine join forces to emit a sewage smell that briefly wafts through the kitchen and living room? Thank goodness we live in a semi-arid desert where rain is a rarity. Soon we will have the time and money to call a plumber and repair the toilet, or replace it. I’m sure it will cost more than we’d like to spend, and I’ll resent the toilet even more. I try not to use the h-word very often. I think it has a way of weaving vehement and unnecessary negativity into daily life. But I hate this toilet. I hate that I need to stand guard every time I flush it, ready to turn off the water or grab a plunger. It enrages me that something so basic is denied me – a toilet that flushes easily, every time. It also reminds me how lucky I am to have two toilets, or indoor plumbing at all. When I helped build houses in Mexico we were excited to have actual walls around the outhouse, which was a toilet placed neatly over a big hole. No need to flush there, but plenty of sewage smell. I chastise myself, just a bit, for failing to recognize my privilege. Then I flip off the terrible toilet as I ready myself to flush.
3 Comments
3/1/2021 08:22:13 pm
I'm so glad I saved one of my three comments for a post written in the evening. Yours made me laugh, think about my mom, and ask a question. I say that's pretty strong writing. I don't know, but I don't think you'd resent an expensive new toilet if it's reliable and saves time. I'm hoping one day I'll be able to afford a Toto toilet. I hear they clean themselves.
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Jessica L Vaughan
3/1/2021 08:39:40 pm
I loved your story, it was entertaining but also left the reader thinking about privilege and what we take for granted. The humor woven into your story made it such a fun read and I really loved the part about the sharp tushies. Thank you for putting a smile on this tired teacher's face!
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