And so, we set about living toilet-less for a third night, confident that our troubles would be gone by 9:00 the next morning when Home Depot reopened.
The short-lived (foreshadowing!) joy.
A cat in a fresh-out-of-the-box toilet.
Sadly, this joy was only temporary. After two days of bliss, we noticed a small leak. Upon trying to fix the leak, we realized how horrendously old and nasty the phlange (the piece that connects floor to toilet) was. A quick call to our back-up emergency plumber revealed that because the pipe was original to the house, it might not be fixable without (brace yourself) going at it through our basement ceiling. You know the one - it's the ceiling we spent hours crippling ourselves over as we rebuilt it just two years ago.
Now, we were potty-less for a fourth night. We laughed, we cried, we binged on Jimmy John's.
Ken, our plumber, came to inspect the toilet yesterday. Lo and behold, his original diagnosis was worst-case scenario and it's actually a really easy fix. Stranger things have happened, right? This old heap of bricks sometimes magically cures itself.
We have a functioning toilet again. I hope my dainty and ladylike musings on this subject haven't turned you off my blog forever. I just felt compelled to share the trials and truths of this harrowing tale with you all. And really, what you don't know about those four dark nights is saving my dignity.
After all, a true lady doesn't
kpiss and tell.