One day a couple of years ago the toilet in our first floor powder room — I've never actually seen the powder, but I'm assured by more intelligent folks that that's the right term — was clogged.
The plunger didn't unclog it. The plunger never unclogs it. But hope springs eternal that one day I'll get off easy.
Back out to the garage to get the snake, which always works (though not after some sweating and profanity).
Now our powder room is tiny, with room for a sink, a toilet and one person. But fascinated by the picture of their father sticking what amounts to a hand powered auger into the toilet — not that any of them would know what an auger was — three of our four children wanted to crowd into the bathroom with me to watch this spectacle. Finding the elbow room to turn the crank on the snake was a challenge.
Crank, crank, snake, snake, and after meeting some resistance I dislodged the reason for the clog: a tube of toothpaste. Children's toothpaste, unless my wife has suddenly switched to brushing with bubble gum flavor without telling me.
When I asked the children how the tube of toothpaste had found its way into the toilet, three excitedly babbling children were suddenly silent. Finally Hannah spoke up: "It fell in the toilet this morning when I was brushing my teeth."
Say, Hannah, how did it happen to get flushed to cause the clog?
"I was afraid you'd get mad so I flushed it to get rid of it."
Because...
"I didn't want to reach in and get it!"
Children's logic. Always right and yet, somehow, sometimes wrong.
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