02 Jan The Sh*ttiest Day of Our Lives
The New Year is here! It is officially 2018. Happy New Year!!!!! As 2017 was closing out, I reflected on all of the amazing moments of 2017 – the birth of my youngest son, Ashton, and moving into our new home are definitely highlights. As I was reflecting, I remembered what had to be one of the lowest, yet somehow most hilarious moments of 2017, let’s call it “The Shittiest Day of Our Lives”. Wanna hear about it? Of course you do!
As you all know, I am a momma of three boys. If there is one thing I have learned about boys during my time as a mother, it’s that boys are gross. Not just gross like, “Eww, that was nasty.” Gross like, “Get your dirty ass out of my face this moment!” gross. My boys, in particular, are so gross that I don’t even like to clean their bathrooms. Luckily, I have an incredible cleaning woman who cleans our home, including the boys’ disgusting bathroom, every other week. GASP! I know. I know. I should be able to clean my own house (blah blah blah), while taking care of my family (blah blah blah). It’s a waste of money… blah. blah. blah. Well let me tell you something, if you have an extra $100/$200 a month, hire a cleaning lady. It was the best decision I ever made. Sure I have to stretch out my nail appointments. And yeah I can’t go to the hair salon as often as I would like to, but that’s a small price to pay for my sanity.
The woman who cleans our house is an angel sent from heaven. Every time she’s done, our house looks like a model home. Any stain, any crumbs, any dirt is no challenge for Deni. But a clean house means absolutely nothing if you have a clogged toilet. Especially if you don’t find out about said clogged toilet until two weeks later. I know you have questions, so let me explain.
Let me start off by saying that my husband is amazing. He’s a certified accountant, who one day decided to quit his job and start his own business, and is now running an extremely successful business on his own. He’s handsome, very smart, supportive, and very loving. But he couldn’t have it all, could he? No. He couldn’t. You see, my husband is not a handyman by any means. He is more of the let-me-hire-someone-to-do-it-for-me-because-I-have-better- things-to-do type of man. I am the I-can-do-anything-and-don’t-need-to-hire-anyone-to-help-me type of woman, so I attempt to fix everything on my own. However, there is one area of DIY I will not venture into- plumbing. I do not want any parts of any clogged pipes. Clogged kitchen sink, clogged shower drain, or a clogged toilet…I will not touch it.
So the day my boys told me their toilet was clogged, I went directly to my husband. Because he is a man, he should be able to understand and handle the stench that had taken over their bathroom. All I asked him to do was plunge the toilet. I left to go to the store and when I came back he assured me it had been handled. Fast forward to a week and a half later, a weird disgusting smell was coming from my boys’ bathroom. And not the normal male stench, this was a really shitty situation. I had no choice but to enter… and what I found was a thing of nightmares.
The toilet was filled to the brim with poop, pee and about a roll and a half of toilet paper. I am not normally a squirmish person, but this shit-tuation made my skin crawl and my throat gag. I immediately stomped in my room demanded an explanation on why the toilet had not be unclogged as promised. Dayo’s response “Damn. My bad. I forgot all about it.” You forgot all about it? YOU FORGOT ALL ABOUT IT?!?! How could you forget about a toilet full of SHIT! I was fed up! It was time to pull out the big guns. I changed the Wi-Fi password and the Netflix password and refused to change it back until the toilet issue had been resolved. Dayo reluctantly walked into the bathroom of death- plunger in hand. I planned on letting him do his thang and figure out how to unclog it on his own, but I made one very simple request- Do. Not. Flush. The. Toilet. Very simple. Not for my husband.
As Dayo took on the toilet, I stayed in my room because 1. I couldn’t bare the smell of the toxic waste and 2. I didn’t want my husband to feel like I didn’t have any faith in his handy man skills. I mean, let’s be honest. I didn’t have any faith in his skills at all, but I didn’t want him to know it. It was very quiet for about two minutes and then, all of the sudden, Dayo loudly screams out “Babe! Babe! Get over here!” F. M. L. This bozo flushed the toilet.
I walk into the bathroom and was absolutely horrified at what I saw. There was *gags* shit EVERYWHERE! Literally! *gags again* AND Dayo was barefoot. *throws up a little* I run downstairs and grab some towels to bring upstairs. In those 30 seconds of my going to get the towels, the poop water had covered the entire bathroom floor. I was definitely about to just die. Take me now, Lord. I can no longer live this life of filth. “Turn off the water! Turn off the water!,” I screamed repeatedly to my fumbling husband. But did he turn off the water? NO! He just stood there yelling about how “fucking nasty” this was and how he was going to “throw up at any moment!”. So I had to be the adult and walk in to the shit show of a bathroom he had created and turn off the water to the toilet. Barefoot. *oh God. I’m gonna vomit.*
So here we are, foot deep in our rotten ass (literally) children’s feces, throwing towels everywhere and arguing about the fact that this dweeb flushed the damn toilet. After my initial shock and disgust, I couldn’t help but erupt in laughter. Like side cramping, tears rolling, laughter. How in the hell is this really happening to me? Is this really my life now? Why couldn’t God just have given me girls? Am I too old to run away from home? And Dayo was pissed.
“Are you really laughing right now?”
*Laughs uncontrollably* “I can’t breathe”
“Katryce! This is not fucking funny!”
*screams in laughter* “I’m dying!”
“I got shit in between my toes and you think this is funny?!?”
*gasps for air. still laughing* “Dear, God. Stop!”
Fast forward to two hours later – I finally got control of my laughter. We had unclogged the toilet, gotten everything off the floor, threw everything away, mopped, Lysol’d the entire bathroom- twice, mopped again, and poured bleach everywhere. There was only one thing left to clean- our bodies. And Dayo and I thought about it at the same time.
Dayo: “I guess we should shower now.”
Me: “Yeah. I feel gross.”
We looked at each other wondering who was going to make it to the shower first. Dayo was a star football player and track champion in high school and college so the chances of me making it to the shower before him were slim. I had no other choice but to play dirty. We both darted for the door at the same time. I took the bag of trash and threw it in front of Dayo which caused him to fall flat on his face. I jumped over his body (Usain Bolt style) and could see the finish line ahead of me. I was almost at the door handle when all of the sudden, Dayo grabs my leg and I fell to the floor. That bastard. He ran into our bathroom, slammed the door and locked it. He won. There I was sitting at the bathroom door, smelling like yesterday’s lunchmeat, waiting for my husband to finish what would go down as the longest shower in the history of the world. This asshole didn’t even have the decency to take a quick shower so I could clean myself off. He wanted me to suffer since I laughed at his pain earlier.
If it wasn’t for the fact that it would terribly burn my skin, I would’ve just filled my tub with bleach and laid in it for hours. But for obvious reasons, that was not a possibility. When I finally did get in the shower, I stayed there for an hour and then I got out and took an additional 30-minute bath just to make sure every inch of filth was removed. When I got out I rubbed myself down in alcohol and soaked my feet in peroxide. I’ve never felt so clean in my life.
That night there was very little pillow talk. My husband and I had just been through a horrifying experience that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. We just laid there, staring at the ceiling and wondering how the day’s events had gone so far left. Dayo ended the night with these words: “Baby, I love you more than you will ever know. But don’t you ever, EVER, ask me to unclog a toilet again. I never want to discuss what happened today, again.” I’m not sure which of these words triggered it, but I once again busted out in uncontrollable laughter. This laughing fit lasted about five minutes. Dayo didn’t talk to me for two days after that. Oops.
Does anyone have any clogged toilet horror stories? Please share. I want to laugh at your pain as well ☺