I walk into the guest bath today and the toilet lid’s hanging on for dear life by a single screw. After further inquiry, it turns out the other screw’d loosened and we were waiting for MiniMe to finish studying so he could grab it. ‘Cause he was the only one whose hand was small enough. Or something.
Me, with my exam-dead brain, figured the screw had fallen into the toilet and, for reasons that are still unclear, decided to talk MiniMe into reaching in there and grabbing it.
I grab MiniMe, march him to the toilet in question, and am all “It’s okay. I’ve done it before, when my phone fell out of my backpocket. The clue is not to think about what you’re doing. Just reach in there and feel for it.”
The poor kid stared at me like I was asking him to, well, stick his hand in a toilet. I can’t really blame him. Even at their cleanest, they’re still toilets. And we all know exactly what goes down ’em. After staring at me wide-eyed for a few seconds, and probably questioning my sanity, he refused.
By this time, I’ve decided it’s vitally important the screw comes out. So I launched into my Speech of Familial Duty and Obligation while we both peered into the depths of the toilet in question. And all the while this little voice in the back of my head’s asking Why is his hand the only one that’d fit? I’ve put my hand in a toilet, and it fit. And why’s the screw inside? Don’t they fall out the back? And why’s it so quiet in the next room? And what effect does daycare in early childhood have on the attachment process?
Moving on. I ignored said voice and went on with my Speech of Familial Duty and Obligation when my mom and dad (the cause of The Silence in The Next Room, eavesdropping shamelessly) burst out laughing and yelling.
Apparently the screw had fallen out behind the toilet, onto this little shelf-like indent thing it has in the back. Hence, the place only his small hand could reach. ‘Cause it’s wedged up against the wall. Or something.
My mom: “And there’s our aspiring developmental psychologist trying to convince a thoroughly disgusted and scared child to stick his hand in a toilet. Traumatizing the children much, S&S?”
My genius, indignant answer: “But you said only his hand could fit!!” And this after they explained the behind, not in error I’d made.
More laughter. In fact, sadistic family of mines is still laughing at me. I will admit though: this isn’t my first intellectual blunder of the day…. more along the sixth or seventh….
Will grabbed the poor kid out of my maniacal clutches and assured him that if anyone had to stick their hand down a toilet, they’d make sure it would be me.
Ugh. So completely brain dead I am.
And I’m not even supposed to be here. So off I go. 1 report and 2 exams left! *insert fake, brain-dead enthusiasm into voice*
Btw, tomorrow, or whenever it is my brain cells being functioning again, I’m going to look back and ask myself what in the world I was thinking, publishing a post titled “The Lemony Fresh Depths of My Toilet.” But I’ve just used a good however-much-time-it-took typing this, so publish it is!