I wake up at 6:45. Still wearing my clover boxers, which I note while grabbing my towel, chuckling about how today will have to be a *lucky* day, even though it’s the 18th. I lumber into the bathroom, lift the seat, and do my thing. I lazily reach over and flush while I turn to engage the shower. Funny — the toilet water seems to be coming at me — OH GOD IT’S FLOODING. I rip the top of the toilet off in a fit of confusion, realize that everything in the back seems fine, allowing inches of churning pee water to erupt onto the floor, my feet, our bathroom rugs. I frantically throw away all the stupid bottles of whatever are blocking the valve at the base of the toilet and I twist that stupid little knob as hard as I can to the right. I am stressed.
I decide that I absolutely hate whoever used this bathroom last and I hate them even more for causing such a stealth clog. My bathroom has no plunger, which in a moment of clarity, I realize, makes perfect sense. I go into my roommate’s — there are two. I grab one and delve that guy into my toilet. The rubber is so old that it doesn’t only crack when I plunge it down, but it gets stuck in its reverse-plunger shape. And OF COURSE the only way to resume its natural shape involves my finger. Pissed, I toss it aside and grab the second plunger and by God, it works on the first plunge.
At about this time my roommate comes out of her room, sleepy-eyed and utterly confused that her roommate is standing in a soaking wet bathroom, drenched in sweat, wearing stupid four-leaf clover boxers, appearing as though he is going to kill the next person that so much as looks at him.
Anyway, I still made eggs-in-a-nest for breakfast because I woke up in the middle of the night thinking that would make a nice breakfast. I was right.
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