If you don’t like playing with poo, stop reading. Seriously. Not that we LIKE playing with it. But sometimes it is necessary. We bought an old house. It is our own fault. The older couple that lived here before us never used the upstairs bathrooms. Now we know why. They overflow. All. The. Time. So the toilet in the master bedroom became clogged. In a random, it just “got” clogged kind of a way. Husband tried to unclog it with his plunger which pushed “stuff” all the way across to the brand new bathtub in the other bathroom. Brand new. Poor thing, never even knew the feeling of fresh water running over it. Now its first memory of the world in bathtubdome will be poo.

Husband knew there must be an issue with the plumbing. We really have known this from day one and had just suppressed that information into the nether-regions of our neurons. Husband suspicion was that the pipe leading from the two bathrooms and down to the lets-not-think-about-where-all-that-goes place was in the shape of a T instead of a Y. This means that instead of “stuff” going down its own little ally and out of the house in a Y shaped tube, it would just slosh back and forth from side to side until it felt like it was time to leave.

So with no formal knowledge of plumbing, Husband drilled a hole in the top of the stairs. He found exactly what he thought he would. Poo slosh central. So we went to Lowes.

And what is worse than a hole at the top of the stairs?

Two holes at the top of the stairs.

It seems that the other pipe was just out of Husband reach.

And, you ask, what could be worse that two holes at the top of the stairs?

Uh, try two holes at the top of the stairs and one hole in the laundry room ceiling because in order to put the new pipe in the correct place, Husband needs more room.  Bye, Bye fan.  No one ever really used you anyway. 

 And in case you have ever wondered what is under your stairs…

(Is Husband holding a candle? A  CANDLE.  In a small place with wood beams and fiberglass insulation. Wearing flip-flops with socks as poo protection?  He is not prepared at all.) 

We now have a Hobbit Hole kind of a thing that can be access through a two foot space in the garage. We are thinking about turning it into a nice reading room or something. Maybe invite people over for tea. Maybe turn it into a play room in a Harry Potterish kind of a way.

Oh and don’t ever say things like, “Well at least we don’t have any damage to the ceiling.” Because any one who has ever seen any horror movies where the girl trips and falls when the boogie man is inches away or the guy drops his keys just as the devil himself rears his ugly head, knows that that would be a really silly thing to say. So why Husband mentioned the lack of issues with the ceiling is beyond me. I THOUGHT about it, but certainly thinking is okay in movies and real life. Nothing bad ever happens when someone thinks about something. Well, except in Nightmare on Elm Street and that whole dream thing… Now we have ceiling issues. Poo ceiling issues. Silly Husband.

The end result of Husbands plumbing escapade is beautiful work of flushing genius. It is why I married the man. He squishes bugs AND can figure out how to fix pooey things. He cut out the old pipe with minimal cussing and then cut new pipe and put everything back together. Now the poo has its own escape pod. Its own little water slide of sorts.  You know it was a good night when the last thing we say to each other is, “You pooped? Why didn’t you tell me! I wanted to listen.”