The Toilet Incident

An eerie, still quiet suddenly filled the house, as the chink and clank of dishes being loaded into the washer was the only sound in an otherwise child-filled house. Mama knew something was terribly wrong. She took one last sip of the creamy, cold milk leftover from dinner, and then she heard it.

The wet squishing sound a mop makes as it’s being lifted out of and dunked back into a bucket of water was rhythmically dancing its way out of the bathroom, and by the time she realized where to run, the ever-familiar sound of a flushing toilet and the overly-joyous squeal of the two-year-old princess who might soon be looking for a new home filled her ears to a blinding rage.

The look of joy instantly turned to one of fright and deep guilt, eyes scanning the small bathroom for an escape route, as the mama showed up to question, nay, rant about the flood that had just ensued from a toilet stuffed with untold amounts of toilet paper.

“WHAT? ARE? YOU? DOING???” face bursting with veins and color as the deep rouge of fresh, boiling blood climbed over cheekbones, brow bones, forehead and hair.

The suddenly timid, tiny voice responds, “I don’t know,” as potty flood waters are rising around her ankles.

Large mama hands grab the tender, mischievous arms of the tiny princess and scoop up a towel to act as a damn for the levy that just poured forth tainted waters, the soft, tender terry fibers becoming heavy and sloppy, like the hair of a shaggy dog at a much overdue bath time. The aroma coming forth from said water much like that of the same wet, shaggy dog, musty and potent.

After much bleach and much mopping, all is right with the world again. For the time being, anyway.