This morning the deejays on my radio station were talking about their home improvement disasters and asking people to post their own DIYs gone wrong on Facebook. I was driving at the time, but naturally I didn't want to be left out of the conversation, so I wrote about my husband's and my latest dishwasher installation that included me having to go to the store with a wet behind and getting my head stuck between the cabinet and the dishwasher. You can view the details on that little adventure on my march 21, 2011blog post. What I didn't mention on the radio station's fb page was another little mishap I had while changing a toilet seat.
I must preface my tale with a confession. I have an abnormal fear of snakes being in the toilet. So far the scariest things I've ever found in the toilet (besides what it's made for) have been a pair of glasses, a toothbrush, and an entire roll of toilet paper, which incidentally soaked up all the water in the bowl! Thank you children. Yet, I occasionally convince myself that there will be a 3 foot boa waiting to lunge out as soon as I open the lid. Now picture a pregnant woman waddling into the bathroom first thing in the morning and sitting down only to feel a sharp stinging pain on the edge of her tush. That'd be me-the one with Snake-in-the-pot-aphobia. I screamed and jumped right off the toilet trying my hardest not to go into full labor as I saw that the snake bite I had received was merely a pinch from a crack all the way through the seat. My groggy husband said, "oh, I broke the toilet seat last night." Information I would have found more helpful about 8 seconds sooner!
That evening I bleached the entire bathroom in just my underwear so as not to get bleach spots on my clothes. Not that it would have mattered if my maternity clothes had bleach anywhere below the belly because I certainly wouldn't have been able to see it. Once the bathroom was clean enough to lay down on the floor, I set about replacing the broken seat. It turned out to be a much more difficult task than I ever imagined because the bolts were rusted to the nuts so severely that they wouldn't budge. I had to wedge myself into the narrow space between the wall and the toilet to get a better angle to saw the bolts off. By the way, pregnant women should avoid wedging themselves into anything! Yes, I was stuck. I decided to finish the job before claustrophobia set in and reassured myself that at any given moment my husband surely could pull me out. I asked that man who pledged to love and cherish me until death to hand me a tool since I was in no position to get it myself. He left the room, and when I heard him return, I put my hand out to receive the tool. No tool touched my hand, but soon I heard the snap of the camera.
Eventually I did get the old seat off, and the man to whom I am miraculously still married did pull me out from behind that ridiculous-albeit sparkling clean-crawl space. I even managed to delete the picture off the camera before it came back to bite me on the rear much in the same way the toilet seat had that morning.
I have also vowed to never let the bolts get rusty on another toilet again. You know, just in case.
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