I'm pretty sure if I keep up this level of productivity vis a vis the blog I am going to have to change the name to "A Week in the Wife", which not only gets away from the whole Beatles reference, but frankly sounds a little stagnant. Nothing should spend a week in the wife. Nothing.
I have a lot to cover. First, lest I forget, I have two strong recommendations to pass along. I just finished the book "The First Husband" by Laura Dave.
But you can't Click to Look Inside! because I am a vicious tease.
I cannot stop listening to the new Band of Skulls CD, particularly the track "Fires". It's pretty White Stripey at the beginning, which is fine, but then they get more into their own stuff, which is good.
I attended a hooker convention in Nebraska last week, which was informative and entertaining, mostly because I spent two nights at my parents' cabin on the Elkhorn River. You may recall that Mom broke her pelvis. And I brought her puppy, aka The GD Dog, home for the month. It was time to return The GD Dog to her rightful owner. But since no visit with my family can go without a Deliveranace moment, I bring you what I now refer to as "The Reason I Won't Eat Beef Stew Again".
Let me preface this story with a few facts:
- My Auntie was visiting from Colorado, whom I haven't seen for a few years, so it was nice we could share this special moment.
- Auntie was sleeping downstairs at the cabin, and I had the upstairs room to myself because it has these crazy submarine steps that are impossible to navigate.
- The cabin exactly fits the bill for a summertime retreat, except that the plumbing is marginal. Very marginal.
I woke up the morning of the Hooker Convention, and navigated my way downstairs to brush my teeth. Mom and Dad were gone because they took The GD Dog to get her spayed at 7 a.m. I walked in the bathroom, and something was WRONG. VERY VERY WRONG. On the floor, there was a suspicious brown pool of water. By the toilet. Oh Dear God No. I opened the lid to the toilet, and sure enough, it was full to the brim with what looked like beef stew. I became an instant vegetarian.
I will tell you that my family has a long and storied history with plugging toilets. I don't know if it's something in our diets, or that we just need to buy places with better plumbing, but my people have plugged toilets at restaurants, funerals, and weddings. Hand to God, it's true. The toilets at this cabin are so bad that I won't let the kids eat fruit for days before we go, and I stop at a McDonald's just before the cabin and make all of the kids go to the bathroom, saying, "If you can't poop now, you might not get another chance until Sunday."
SO. I see The Stew. Apparently, I make a small moaning sound. Auntie wakes up in the other room.
AUNTIE: "What!?! What is going on!?!"
ME: "Do NOT come in here."
AUNTIE: "Why. What have they done."
ME: "Someone has poor digestion and we are going to suffer."
AUNTIE: "I'm coming in there."
ME: "You'll never get this image out of your head, I'm warning you."
AUNTIE: (Comes in) "Oh God."
ME: "I told you. I can't just leave it. I have to plunge."
AUNTIE: "I have to pee. What am I going to do?"
ME: "I can tell you that you aren't peeing in here unless it's in the sink."
AUNTIE: "I can't take it. I'm going in the yard."
And so she left and apparently peed in the yard. I tried plunging and flushing. I won't paint a picture for you, but let me just say that gallons of water and old towels with Welcome Friends-type geese on them died for my efforts. I had to leave for my hooker show, so I scrubbed down with hydrochloric acid and hand sanitizer and prayer and made my way to the show.
Two hours later, Auntie and my mother walk into the hooker convention hall.
AUNTIE: "Arrival from Shitsville!" she announces.
MOM: "Your dad got Drano and some chemical that is hazardous and thought we should leave."
AUNTIE: "The label on the chemical had a skull and crossbones and said DO NOT USE IN TOILETS OR IN COMBINATION WITH OTHER CHEMICALS so your dad thought we'd be safer here. And they have working bathrooms."
MOM: "But your dad took off in the middle of the morning without telling us, and we both had to go to the bathroom, so we had to use the outhouse."
(OH. Did I mention that my parents' super-deluxe cabin comes outfitted with an outhouse behind the garage? One with lighting and tile flooring? Could this have maybe been the tip-off that the plumbing in the house isn't so good? Auntie was not aware of this feature when she peed in the yard. I didn't tell her, because our function in life is to entertain the neighbors.)
They soon left, bored with the hookers and their multiple bathroom trips over, and I made sure to use the bathroom before I left the hooker convention. My friend Meem from high school brought a Starbucks Salted Caramel Mocha to me at the hooker event in the morning because she loves me, and I made sure to glug that down immediately so I wouldn't suffer the effects hours later when stuck in Shitsville. When I arrived at the cabin, Dad told me he had fixed all of the plumbing issues and everyone was safe and that the hazardous chemical was not used, but I didn't go within 10 feet of that bathroom before I left. I would rather pee in the yard. I ate broth when I felt faint and that was it.
Auntie tells Dad how she feels about the bathrooms.
I'm sorry for traumatizing you people, but I think we can all agree that if there is one thing I will never do on this blog, it is to sugar-coat the facts. I might embellish a million little pieces, but I won't sugar-coat. Unless it is something I'm eating. But NOT before I visit the cabin.
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