Yesterday, my son walked in and handed me the toilet seat. This is both gross, and ridiculous.
It was a brand new toilet seat. I just installed it back in August, a replacement to one of the puffy ones that let out that creepy sigh of air when you sit.
The puffy one had been at least a decade old, and was relatively serviceable, but it had a little tear in the plastic, which the little found to be uncomfortable. So I put in a new one.
For him to be carting it around the house, the bolts must’ve come out. I assumed that I must not have tightened them sufficiently, so I went in to replace them.
Except it wasn’t that I, in a weak girly moment, hadn’t tightened the nuts enough. The bolts themselves were broken.
Huh. That ‘s a new one.
I settled the seat back in its place, held the little’s hand while he carefully sat, then went in search of bolts.
A couple of minutes in, the howl from upstairs told me that the kid had flipped off the seat when he’d tried to rise. So I had to soothe the kid, freaking out a little because he fell to the floor, freaking out a lot because when he slipped, his arm slid into the toilet and he was covered in poop germs, Mama, get them oooooooooof!
Obviously, the be careful method of getting by until I could hit the hardware store wasn’t going to cut it.
Twenty minutes later, after I had boiled my son’s arm, I went back down to the basement to look for bolts.
Too small, too small, too small. Grrr. I should really get that old carpet roll out of here. I think the cat peed on it.
So, yes, my location induced ADD kicked in and I turned from the toilet project to get a little lesson in physics and geometry by trying to haul the carpet up the bulkhead steps.
Just to save you that learning experience, know this: If the thing you are trying to move up stairs weighs significantly more than you, and you don’t periodically adjust the fulcrum point, eventually you hit a height at which the advantage is no longer yours.
You will get pulled back down the stairs, and it will hurt.
But I digress. As usual.
After my battle with the carpet, I resumed my search for bolts large enough to affix the seat to the toilet, but came up empty.
And of course, no car, so I can’t go get some.
Time for some creative thinking. This is actually something I am quite good at – just last week I successfully fixed the leaky whole house water filter by rigging a gasket out of an old leather belt and vegetable oil.
So after pondering this dilemma for a few more minutes, staring into the empty bolt holes, it hit me. String! I could sew the cover on.
The picture doesn’t really do this justice – it really is some kind of redneck spectacular. All-Murican red and white stripped twine, woven in and out through the holes, tied with a Girl Scout approved square knot.
I’m not really sure where this story lands on the success meter. On one hand, the toilet is back together again, so win there. And I get points for creativity.
But my toilet is tied together. Which gives me some sort of extra-credit with the Redneck Olympics committee, I’m sure. And that is never what I am striving for.
Though I’m not sure this would be the post they want to be pimped through, please go visit my friends:
They both have had some unanticipated down time from writing. Give them some love while they recuperate.