T is for Tools…and Toilet

Over the weekend, the bathroom rebelled.

It started discreetly enough.  Despite having downed what surely amounted to an entire bottle of wine during dinner with the rellies, I was aware enough to notice when I stumbled home that the toilet was running.  I checked out the tank, fiddled with a few knobs (that’s what she said?), and let it settle.  The next day, I could see that the tank was now sweating.  Initially, I thought this made sense.  I sweat when I run; why shouldn’t the toilet?  I again checked the tank, fiddled with knobs, and let it settle.  Later that day, things seemed back to normal.

I was drying some clothes on the shower rod on Sunday night, which proved to be too much for our delicate tension rod to handle.  Making as much noise as possible, it came down off the wall.  Roommate Dan and I tried to get it back up, as it had fallen before, but we soon found out that our tension rod was no longer tense.  Dan tried twisting and turning the rod near the joint, but I told him that would do no good.  If he kept massaging it like that, surely the rod would lose whatever tension it had left in it and remain perfectly relaxed.  Perplexed, he told me that we should just get a new one.  While I was taking our perfectly good shower curtain off the loose and lazy rod, I noticed that our toilet seat was now cracked.  This was now officially daunting.

I went to Bed, Bath, & Beyond after work on Monday, armed with copious coupons.  I would like to ask what business they have claiming to have a “Beyond”.  They barely had a “Bath”.  There was one half-wall of toilet seats to browse, and half a dozen tension rods to choose from.  I found a seat that was the right shape and color, as well as a rod that was the right length and which perfectly fit into our bathroom’s color scheme!  I’m the son of a decorator, okay?  Sometimes these things excite me.

I got home and, after dinner, broke out the tools.  The shower rod was easy enough to get up by hand.  As for the toilet, that took some work with the screwdriver and the spinny-grippy-thing that I later learned is called a wrench.  We also had a brief moment of panic when, in unwrapping the new toilet seat, I dropped it.  I almost broke it, as well as a few of mine and Dan’s toes.  Thankfully, it was built Ford tough.

The point is, kids, that I succeeded in undertaking not one but two home repair tasks!  This is huge for a guy whose own mother disdainfully once said, “Your hands are as smooth as a baby’s ass.”  I was disproportionately proud of myself.  Like the great Roman general about whom I am still reading (not much left, though; they just killed him on page 509), I acted quickly and decisively and brought the rebel element back under my control.  And just like Caesar, after my hard work, I was rewarded with the throne I always desired.

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I am holding a wrench. You just can't see it in my large, manly hands.

~ T

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