My husband gave me permission to write this. Seriously. He said, and I quote, “You may write about this on your blog.” Usually, his directive is the opposite, as in “Do NOT write about this.” But as our daughters will tell you, I’ve never been very good at toeing the line. This is what comes of being the youngest of five children AND the only daughter.
But I digress. This little story actually began oh…about 20 years ago…about the same time we bought this house. Which, by the way, is old. Very old. And old houses often have little glitches. This little glitch involves the toilet in our downstairs closet-sized bathroom. It is just big enough for a toilet and a tiny vanity — leaving very little room for a human being. Which, on the face of things, is completely impractical.
Despite its size, the bathroom gets quite a bit of use. For one thing, what child will run upstairs to use a bathroom when she wants to miss the least amount of whatever is on the tv? And so…after 20 years of pretty regular flushing, the poor little toilet failed us.
More specifically, it began to object to being flushed. Or once flushed, it decided to run for awhile. You know how that is. Instead of that last little gurgle, there is a hissing sound as if water is running into the bowl. So you jiggle the handle, hold your breath, and pray that it will stop. It stops, you breathe a sigh of relief…until the next flush.
In our case, we’ve probably been jiggling the handle a tad too long. It got to the point where instead of flushing, I’d beg my husband to flush it by hand inside the tank. But that only worked so long and the inevitable happened. No more flushing. Eeek.
Today, my husband came home brandishing a package of what he called “a present for you”. I’ve heard that saying before and I know a real present from a faux present. This was a faux. This was a new flusher thingy, courtesy of my favorite hardware store owner. Too bad said hardware store owner and expert fix-it guy didn’t accompany my husband, the would-be plumber.
So…after supper, we both eyed the little thingy speculatively. Off came the top of the tank, and out popped the old flusher thingy (flusher level to those who plumb). My husband’s words were (and again, I quote), “you pop this in, screw this on…um..wait maybe it screws the other way…no, maybe not.” (This was followed by a few choice, but unprintable words.)
To make a long story short, eventually, we (he) got the chain connected and reconnected and everything settled back into place. A test flush and bingo, down goes the test piece of toilet paper, and we’re back in working order.
Now that Mr. Plumber has proven his skills, wonder if I could sic him on the bathtub drain thingy. It doesn’t work. I’ll let you know when he gives me permission to tell that story.