It’s August, which brings back vivid memories of August one year ago, when my husband and I were in the throes of packing, organizing, purging, planning, and preparing for our move from Denver to a small town somewhere in the middle of Missouri. At least I think it’s in the middle of Missouri. I’m still not sure.
Full disclosure, only one of us was deep in the throes of preparing. Having been raised in a tribe which thrives on not only being well-prepared, but over-prepared, I spent hours a day planning our move and deciding what to keep, what to through out, what to donate, etc. My husband, however, has a more casual attitude, since he was raised in a tribe whose motto was “there’s always tomorrow.”
To complicate matters, my husband and a few of his friends decided to take a road trip to the UP of Michigan for the 4th of July, something they had done many times in their youth. I support the male bonding experience, but this trip was not well timed. After all, we were moving! My husband would be gone for ten days, leaving me alone to get the house ready to put on the market.
A few days before his trip, the toilet in the master bathroom malfunctioned. Big time. We called our plumber, knowing that he could fix anything. Except our toilet. We had to replace the toilet, and due to the dimensions of the bathroom, we had a problem.
After taking multiple measurements of our bathroom, we had to place a special order at our local Home Depot, and discovered that it would take at least 2 weeks for it to arrive. Oh well. What could go wrong?
When the toilet arrived, I was given 3 day window to pick it up. If I didn’t get it by the end of the third day, it would go back on the shelf to be resold. I cleared my calendar for the following day, and a place in the garage to store it until the plumber could install it.
I waited in the parking lot for one of the workers to deliver the toilet, and watched a sturdy young man struggle to get it into the back of my SUV. I looked at him and said, “That looks heavy.” He looked at me like I was an idiot. He replied, “It’s a toilet.” Sweating and grunting, he managed to get it into my SUV, bid me a nice day, and left me standing in the parking lot, wondering how I was going to get the toilet out of my SUV and into the garage.
Spoiler alert; I didn’t. Oh, it wasn’t for the lack of trying. When I realized the futility of my efforts, I resigned myself to the fact that the toilet was going to sit in the back of my SUV until either my husband or the plumber showed up.
For the next 10 days I drove my SUV and my toilet all over the city of Denver. If I made a sharep turn, the toilet would roll to its side, making a loud bum-ba-da-da noise. When I turned the other way, it would follow suit to the opposite side. It was bizzare, but highly entertaing as well. I even started to get attached to my Travel companion, and smiled everytime I looked in the rearview mirror and saw those words “American Standard” written across the box. I even felt a bit sad that our time together was quickly coming to an end.
The day that my husband was scheduled to come home was also the day that the plumber was coming as well. Things were falling into place, much to my relief. What could possibly go wrong?
Unfortunately, I was about to find out.
To be continued….
Originally Published on https://www.cherylilov.com/blog/
