every now and then you are confronted with the terrible image of the floater, normally it is in the morning, you are bleary eyed still a little fogged with sleep, you are staggering into the toilet for the morning ablutions and there it is sitting in the bowl of the toilet smiling up at you: the turd from hell. due to mutant power the turd that exited your body the night before has now become so big it will not go down the u-bend, instead it floats serenely in the toilet. it mocks you, reminding you that your flush was inadequate. still dream addled you do the morning business, wash, douse the loo in bleach, flush and escape to work.
all is forgotten – the day might have been stressful (normally is), it might have been filled with people conversing in english but not making any sense (you can recognise the words – but you have never heard them used in quite that way), there may have been a laugh or two a long the way (occasionally happens).
when you get back home there is that trip to the smallest room in the house only to be confronted by the floater.
the morning flush has left it unharmed. the bleach has done nothing. the turd continues to mock you.
another flush as you leave the toilet.
listen to some music, drink some coffee, the night ends, time for bed and that one last trip to empty the bladder before sleeping.
it’s still there big, brown and ugly: the turd silently laughs at you. this time you flush in anger. the swirl of water obscures your view for a brief moment, but no no no no no it’s still there. the turd will not flush, it will not go gently into the dark night. the cistern fills up and when you flush this time there is a sense of certainty in your heart. but no the joy is short lived it’s still there. wait, hold on, is that a chink of light at the end of the tunnel, can my eyes be deceiving me or is it smaller…. yes yes yes it’s smaller than before.
more bleach. one last defiant flush and then to sleep.
in the morning you just know there will be victory.
a sense of dread fills you in the morning – will it still be there? gingerly you enter the toilet, there in the pan it is still there. the turd is defiant, but you can see the bleach has done it’s job, the last flush was fatal and the water has done it’s job. this turd is on it’s last legs.
one more flush.
the water churns.
the water clears.
the turd is gone.
a whoop of joy and the journey to work is done with a twinkle in the eye and a lightness of heart.
deep down though, you know that the floater will reappear in the future for battle to commence once more. for now just enjoy this victory.
4 comments:
My eldest son likes to wait until a stranger is listening before telling the story of "Mum doing a poo that was so big it wouldn't go down the toilet". She is utterly humiliated every time he decides to share this gem. That I laugh so much every time doesn't help either...
Another story was my friend who did a poo so big it literally curled round the bottom of the loo - a sort of anaconda/rope affair. He was so astounded at his own expertise he ran to wake his wife (it was the middle of the night), who thought either the house must be on fire or a burglar had got in. Imagine her anger as he led her to the bathroom, pointed at the unflushed toilet and said "Look! I did that!".
The first sentence put me off completely. I dodn't attempt to read the rest. I think this may be a boy/girl thing.
Slightly off topic but you'll get my slant on this. I'm reading Marylin Manson biography at the moment and it mentions that at his early gigs he used to chuck little clear plastic bags out into the crowd containing cookies, however some contained dry cat turds!
adam - i can relate. there have been times when i have entered the bogs at work to do a number 2 only to be confronted with a shit smeared toilet that i have no wish to be near. only for someone to walk in and give me that look.
cliff - when i first moved in with my ex it took me sometime to be comfortable to do my big jobs there (i would have to return home to the parents place to lay a line, it was a nice excuse to go back and see them). after awhile i became more at ease and soon i could drop a load happily there. the only problem was that occassionally her child, liam, would want to talk to me while i was doing my thing. it was most disconcerting, espcially at the moment when you were just about to squeeze one off....
he also once came into the bathroom while i was having a very long and pleasent soak, as he needed to have a pooh. so as i lay there and looked at the ceiling he got on with his task. when he finished he asked if i wanted to see what he had done. i declined. he then got on with wiping his bottom. i have never seen someone use quite so much paper for so little. when asked what he was doing he said his granny had told him "six wipes" (no idea where she got the number from....) but he used up as much paper as the andrex puppy does in the ads....
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