The Busted John

Last night we were sitting in our living room chatting when Emma brought up living in our first house that we rented when we first came to Texas in 2012. I rented it without the girls, because I was living in a Holiday Inn Express and they were still living in Oklahoma.  
It wasn’t a bad house, but the girls never liked it. It just never felt like “home.” I rented it in kind of a rush because I was tired of living in hotels and between April and I both, we had 3 homes, and 3 mortgages, so until we sold a couple of them I damn sure wasn’t interested in buying anything else. So I rented the house.
But April did her best to make it a home. She decorated and rearranged until she was satisfied. Well, almost satisfied.
Satisfied except for the toilet seat in the girls bathroom. It was wooden. It had Minnie Mouse stickers on it from the previous tenants, and I could NOT get it off. The bolts were rusted beyond repair and were completely frozen in place. I’m a pretty stout guy, but I couldn’t get it to budge. I told April it wasn’t going to come off, but she is generally not one to be told “no.”


So the next day, while I was at work, my adorable little 7 month pregnant wife decided that she could change the seat without me. She got her tools and got down into the bathroom floor and started torquing on the bolts attached to the seat. And just as I had expected to happen, the bolt didn’t budge, the porcelain cracked and the bottom of the tank broke. Pouring all of the water in the tank onto the bathroom floor. The toilet was officially useless, meaning that now I had to change the toilet, which just so happens to be about my least favorite household job. I wasn’t very happy. At all.
On my way home I stopped to pick up a new toilet. It was sitting in the back of the truck when I picked Emma up from school. She immediately asked, “What’s in that box in the back of the truck?” I replied, “It’s a new toilet. Your mom broke the toilet in your bathroom.” She thought for just a moment and then said, “Oh….was it because her bottom was too big?”
Once I finally stopped laughing, I told her to be sure and never say that to her pregnant mom. She probably wouldn’t think it was quite as funny as I did.

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