So, I’m working tonight and my twelve-year old come rushing past, muttering something about the toilet overflowing. “I need towels!”
I said, “Wait. The toilet is overflowing? What does that mean? The water is still rising? Or . . . ?”
“The water is rising!” he said rather frantically.
I ran upstairs to find water flowing over the toilet bowl. I splashed across the floor–vinyl now, rather than carpet–and plunged the toilet until the water stopped gushing.
My son appeared with pool towels and every bath towel in the house and I threw the towels into the puddle, the pond, the lake that had formed in the bathroom.
So. That was fun.
At least the ceiling hasn’t yet been fixed from the last time we had a catastrophic water emergency.