Yesterday we all slept through the alarm, and it was a mad rush to get lunches packed and everyone out the door. Just as Mitch jumped in the shower, there was an ominous sound from the downstairs bathroom.
BLOOOOP.
BLOOOOP.
BLOOOOP.
I went to check it out just as the water in the toilet started flowing over the top of the bowl. The plunger didn't work, so I yelled for Henry to go get Mitch "and don't forget to tell him it's an EMERGENCY!!!!! Now run!"
Mitch came thundering downstairs, covered in suds and completely naked. He starts plunging away and Henry. Is. Dying. He positioned himself well out of Mitch's way and dropped to the ground, clutching his stomach in silent laughter. It turns out we had a clog in our septic system, so it wasn't as bad as we thought.
Later that morning, the girls' preschool teacher is holding up letters for the kids to guess and name some words that begin with said letter. She held up an "S" and all the kids shouted "S!". Then Grace yelled, "Septic!" and Olivia yelled, "Sewage!" I wanted to yell, "Shit!", but I didn't for obvious reasons. I didn't want to confuse the preschoolers with the "sh" sound.
Henry still hasn't stopped grinning at the mental image of his Dad in all his sudsy, naked glory.
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