It being Mother's Day and all, I figured I'd discuss a little situation that is going on with the old lady.
All right, so we've basically been together for about 20 years -- since the college days. We get along amazingly well, considering all the time we've spent together over the years, and, by now, there's very little we don't know about each other.
So, I don't mind if, say, I'm brushing my teeth and she's taking a whiz right next to me (in the toilet, of course). Big whoop. And I don't mind if she feels comfortable enough to, oh, rip one in bed, a la Shelley Winters, to my Ernest Borgnine. I'm flattered, actually... after I stop dry-heaving, that is. I've even given her the nickname "The Rear Admiral." She has quite a talent.
But I have to draw the line at her leaving a fully-engorged, horrendous-traffic-accident-looking tampoon afloat in the crapper for me to just happen upon every month. Good god, it's like that voodoo guy from Indiana Jones has just ripped the still-beating heart from that guy's chest, tied a leash around it, and plopped it into my commode. If anyone wants proof against an Intelligent Designer, take a look at the mess in my potty -- the "being" who created that shit is a sick fuck.
Am I outta line here?! I mean, how hard is it to flush that shit down, woman?! Of course, in her defense, I know she doesn't do it on purpose. She says she forgets to flush it, now and again. Fine. But whenever I complain about it, she always says:
OLD LADY: Oh, come on. It's not that bad. It's like a band-aid.
A BAND-AID?! If you've got an injury pumping that kinda shit out of it, a Band-Aid ain't gonna help you! We're talking compression bandages for a sucking chest wound. It's like walking onto the set of "Platoon" in that bathroom, sometimes. I don't know whether to flush it down or toss it into a cooler packed with ice and rush it to the nearest hospital so it can be re-attached.
I don't know how you women deal with that shit every month. It seems so... medieval. I mean, we can send a man and/or woman to the moon but you guys still have to put those things in your... things to soak up the... stuff?! It's mind-boggling!
So, Happy Mother's Day to the Old Lady. She's a fantastic mom, a perfect partner and a saint for having stuck with me for so long. But unless she starts flushing the plugs with a little more regularity, she ain't gonna be getting one of them fancy "Pecan Divinity Tubs" any time soon.