It happens…

Birthdays are pretty laid back around here.  Typically, the family (used to be four of us, now there are three) goes out for dinner at a restaurant of the celebrant’s choice.  The meal is followed by cake, ice cream and low key giftery at the homestead.  All in all, very nice.

Through the years, there have been a few birthday events of note… Once, i had a scratched cornea, yet went to dinner anyway – baked out of my skull on painkillers and wearing an eye patch.  They convinced me to carry a fake pirate hook for effect.  Pirate jokes were tossed with reckless abandon, and an annoyed amused confused wait staff was the ultimate outcome.  There might  have been a pirate hat involved, too.  i honestly can’t remember… not even sure whose birthday it was… 

Another favorite?  The year The Boy turned 18*.  i was too busy that day getting a biopsy and completing the qualifying assumption on my home to get him a cake.  He and The Girl took care of this task, returning home from the grocery store with a cake that said “Happy Birthday, You Sexy Bitch”.  Would have loved to see the look on the face of the nice blue-haired lady working the bakery that night when this request crossed the counter…

Last month, The Boy turned 20.  A quiet day, spent with his friends, started with a trip to the local flea market, so they could buy “Air soft riflesBB guns and pretzels…. HUGE pretzels…”.  Since The Girl was still in Beirut, we decided to postpone the family dinner.  i offered to grill up some testosterone-encrusted man-sized steaks for him and two of his friends instead.

It was going quite well, until the young gents started to “process” all that red meat…  i heard a howl from downstairs.  Apparently one particularly gastronormous colon blow had sent the downstairs toilet into red alert – creating a shit waterfall.  For a variety of reasons, i was simply unable to deal with it at the time…  The Boy – frustrated and ankle deep in shitwater – asked advice.

daisyfae:  there’s a Shop-Vac** in the garage…. [returns to fetal position, sucking thumb, hiding under covers]

He bravely went about the business at hand.  Even firing off perhaps his best one-liner of the year (which reduced his now half-drunken friends to tears):

The Boy:  My birthday was going great… until a bunch of shit came up…

After cleverly disposing the muck***, he dutifully scrubbed and disinfected the downstairs bathroom.  This was followed by what was essentially a “sexual assault victim” shower.  Curled up in the tub, nearly boiling water assailing his body, scrubbing furiously at himself… never clean enough…

Managed to fetch a plumber the next morning to dislodge the offending clog****, but there was still a residual problem with the Shop-Vac.  i love my Shop-Vac.  i need my Shop-Vac.  It had to be cleansed…  The Boy promised to do this (bleach/water solution would do the trick), but asked for a couple days to allow recovery from post-traumatic stress disorder.

When the soiled Shop-Vac was still sitting on my lower patio last week – unclean – and The Boy was preparing to return to his apartment after Christmas break?  i had to bitch at him until he caved gently turn up the heat.  Returning from a trip to the local store to purchase a gallon of bleach, he and a friend hit me with the following:

The Boy:  We were going to buy some duct tape, rope, a shovel, rubber gloves and trash bags too – just to see if anyone called the cops on us…

Friend of The Boy*****:  Yeah, we thought about asking which aisle had “hooker killing supplies”, but that would have been over the top…

exploding-toilet

* It was December, 2006.  Not. A. Good. Month. For. Me….

** If you are going to own one piece of equipment that you must count on to save you from water-based disaster?  It is the lowly Shop-Vac.  Has saved me from many a mess…

*** i believe it was poured into the creek bed, far behind my lower patio.  i really don’t want to know….

**** Paid damn near $200 for a guy in hip-waders to stick a $50 “toilet auger” into the toilet.  Took him 15 minutes to do the job, and another 30 minutes to figure out how to use the electronic, wireless thingamajobbie to process my payment… Guess what my next hardware store purchase shall be?

***** He’s a “boy”, and he’s a “friend”.  But he’s NOT a “boyfriend”…

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16 thoughts on “It happens…

  1. see, that is an amusing birthday because it did not happen to me.

    I’ll have to remember the pirate hook thing when The Mister gets on painkillers for whatever… camera will be available.”

    Think I’ll forward your post to someone so I can get my own shopvac. In pink, natch.

    P.S. “Hooker killing supplies”, duly noted for when someone asks “Hee hee, what’s in that box” while passing my desk.

  2. Reminds me of the time I watched my dad try and de-clog a tampon and gastric flu destroyed bog system. The gagging. The looks of pure hatred. The gagging. Sometimes flapping your arms around pretending you’re useless has distinct advantages. *grin*

  3. silverstar – thought about buying a new one, but this one’s gotten me through two floods… would feel bad treating it like shit.

    stephanie – why go with a pirate theme? put him in your wedding dress and take him to WalMart…

    gnu – i spent a bit if time in december doing my fetus impersonation… but with a large brown dog curled up next to me, it wasn’t so bad!

    annie – and you don’t even have a dog!

    alex – Ah… will pass that morsel along to The Boy for future reference.

    gimcrack – he earned some hero points for cleaning that up. i was incapable…

    dolce – i could have flapped, but preferred to run away.

    kyknoord – Circling uranus, in search of Klingons…

  4. squirrelqueen – should i call a priest or a plumber? or a plumber priest?

    manuel – this was pretty ugly… and i’ve had some gnarly birthdays…

    bunk strutts – Welcome to The Park! Yes, nursemyra gets around, but she only hangs out with the cool kids… i wanna be in her gang.

    BLT – i dunno. sometimes, that’s what life hands you… i’ve had a steady stream of it for the past month.

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