I had a first the other day. And not a happy first like baby’s first tooth or the first time you saw a really great movie or a first kiss. No, an unhappy one. Like the first time you got a zit. Or the first time you were pulled over. Or the first time I washed my hands with bleach. Like I did the other day. Why? A funny story, that.
In the midst of making dinner, in the midst of Aidan’s witching hour when he NEEDS to be held NOW, in the midst of sending Evan to time out for wailing on Sean (though surprisingly Sean was fine), Evan went to the bathroom. As he pulled off the toilet paper, the roll fell of the spindle and into the toilet. The toilet with crap in it.
So I heard this:
I came running to find Evan standing there with his pants and underwear around his ankles.
And then I looked in the toilet.
For a moment, I reflected on the fact that I had lost my keys down a toilet a year and half ago, and if those keys could be flushed down a toilet, then surely this plastic tube could be too. But the toilet that swallowed my tasty keys was a public restroom with a powerful, face-sucking flush. This was a rental.
I grabbed the ever so small sliver sticking out of the water. I let it drip. I wrapped it in a tissue and ran for my bathroom, where I dropped in the sink. I proceeded to scrub my hands. Once. Twice. Thrice. Four time. Five. Six. Seven. And where’s the bleach?
And then I washed my hands with bleach. And then two more times with soap and water. I let the spindle soak in bleach and water. Ewwww.
And dinner – Crap.