There in the late, dark hours of the evening, Mr. Wonderful and I laid side-by-side, whispering to each other about something we’d never before discussed. My toilet.
It’s been misbehaving lately and rather than call my landlord and say, “Hey B, I keep clogging up the crapper—can you send someone over?” I wanted to snake it myself. But Mr. W informed me last night that my apartment likely has clay pipes and if I snake it, I could break a pipe and flood the place. I think I may just go buy some Liquid Plummer and call it a day (I know, I am the Green AntiChrist. It’s just that…when the shower stopped up, LP worked like a charm.)
When the toilet incidences first started, I thought it might be my fault.
I’ve been watching a lot of Dr. Oz lately and he talks about fiber constantly. So much so, that I became insecure about my own fiber consumption. Was I not getting enough? Was I slowly building an indestructible pebble wall inside my sewer line because of the lack of roughage in my diet? Was I going to end up on the show as a worst-case scenario pooper?
I’m not sure if I expressed these concerns to Mr. W, but as we did with the Napa/Birthday idea, we had a brain-sharing moment about all this over the weekend. Thinking I could solve my plumbing issues by way of the bowel, I picked up some Benefiber at Target Friday. Then Saturday when I went over to his house, there on my nightstand was a container of Benefiber.
I laughed and asked him what that little gift was all about. “You said you didn’t think you were getting enough fiber, so I picked up a bottle for each of us.”
That’s the kind of thoughtful guy Mr. W is. The kind who cares about me and my colon. And my clay pipes.