Honey, I shrunk the toilet.

July 5th, 2008

I am afraid. Afraid of what Hubby is doing in our bathroom.

He goes in there with tools. He makes a point of shutting the door. I hear scraping. I hear grinding. I hear banging.

He comes out grumbling, heads downstairs, and goes into the garage. More grinding. More banging.

After a few minutes, a pungent odor, like that of something on fire, wafts from the bathroom. I do what any rational person would do in this kind of situation –go downstairs, sit on the couch, and turn on the TV.

I’m ready to evacuate when necessary.

Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to marry engineers.

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