drain-o

(At the outset of this post let me say that I love my husband very much.  I loved him the day we got married and I knew that together we would never be bored, and we would always be partners.  This sentiment has only grown since our wedding day.  That said, we have fights like everyone and sometimes they annoy or amuse me enough to write about.  So no need to call the mediators or lawyers, just in case all my writing about arguments was making you worry)


Jeremy - "The sink is clogged.  What did you do?"

me - blank stare

Jeremy - "did you wait until the end of the day to run the disposal again?"

me - .....

"when you let all the days food scrapings pile up in the sink and then mush them all down after dinner?"

me - .....trying to maintain blank stare while eyes are lighting up with recognition of events for which I am accused....

There is plunging and cursing and snaking.  Then there is a trip to the store for drain-o.  Drain-o is administered and we leave the house - Jeremy takes Hayden to karate and Zeni and I go to the grocery store, because we are all about reinforcing gender stereotypes in this house.

I get home first.  The sink is still clogged.  I rack my brain for drain-o knowledge (because surly I know more than, say, the empty bottle of drain-o with directions plastered all over it next to the sink).  I remember something about how you have to pour it in and then let it sit for awhile and then it will start working.  I figure it has been sitting for awhile so decide to give it a go again with the plunger and the snake.  In my mind, I am helping Jeremy and not leaving him with all of the household jobs which I know can lay heavy on his mind.

I plunge.  I snake.  I plunge more boisterously.  I notice my hands are burning and my eyes are stinging.  I go to the bathroom to wash them and realize when I look in the mirror that my shirt has been bleaches white and seems to be dissolving as I watch where drain-o has touched it.

Had I read the bottle I would have been instructed NOT to plunge but only to, as the big flashy Brand Name suggests, let it DRAIN o out of the sink.  Plunging apparently mixes the chemicals up and causes some kind of reaction - hence the burning eyes, blanched skin, ruined shirt.

Muh bad #1.

Muh bad # 2 comes later when Jeremy again snakes the drain and pulls up.... wait for it.... straw.  (This was after the lecture about chemicals which in my mind went just like that Far Side cartoon: "blah blah blah..... chemicals..... blah blah blah... toxic.....blah blah blah")

Jeremy - why the hell is there straw in the drain?

me - (trying to replicate innocent face from first time we had a conversation about the clogged sink)

Jeremy - you don't fill the chicken's water in here, do you?

me - ......... honey?  I love you.  You are so handy and capable and manly and I am just so lucky to have you.

Jeremy - are you fucking kidding me??  Straw?  Chicken poop?  Sink where we cook?

Lesson learned.  Fight fought.  Marriage intact.  Chickens watered from the outside spicket from now on.