Lost in translation

Around the house, I am typically the one that fixes things. If the door closes wrong, I am the one to adjust it, if a drawer gets jammed, I am the one that unjams it. I put up the hardware and I have more mileage on the power drill than my hubby. I guess you get the idea, right?

The past few days I have noticed a little ‘stuffage’ in our downstairs toilet. That bathroom is not typically used so I have put the soft toilet paper in there to try to get rid of it. It turns out that the super soft, ultra thick, you can jump off the top of a building and land on it safely toilet paper is really bad for your pipes. After all the sewer and plumbing issues I have witnessed, I listen to my plumber like he is the leader to my cult. Scott brand, regular toilet tissue is all we will use in this house. However, I do have some leftover soft stuff so I try to place it wisely. I just can’t bear the thought of just tossing all of it.

Last night I mentioned the stuffing that I have noticed in the bathroom to R. I told him to be careful with the toilet paper because it seems like that toilet doesn’t take it so well. I even pointed to the door of the water closet since we were sitting in the room it adjoined.

Today R worked from home, so he got up pretty late and ran downstairs just in time for work. He typically doesn’t bother me and lets me sleep in the mornings. During breakfast this is the conversation I had to endure:

“The downstairs toilet is stuffed up.”
“It is? Did you use it?”
“Yea.”
“Didn’t I just tell you last night not to use that bathroom?”
“You meant THAT bathroom?”
“Uh, YES! I pointed right at it.”
“Oh, I thought you meant the upstairs bathroom.”
“What?”

{Short pause}

“Why did you even use that bathroom.”
“I didn’t want to wake you.”
“You blow dry your hair in our bathroom and I never wake up.”
{confused stare}

So I spent all morning with J searching Target for a $120 plunger. (well that includes a few extra items)