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 Tornado A’s witching hour when he NEEDS to be held NOW, in the midst of sending Tornado E to time out for wailing on Tornado S (though surprisingly Tornado S was fine), Tornado E 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 Tornado E 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.