mrsronweasley (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mrsronweasley) wrote2008-11-10 08:36 pm
mrsronweasley) wrote2008-11-10 08:36 pm
HOLY CRAP MONDAY.
Because a cold and a sleepover with my parents was not enough.
*sigh*
Okay, so, this morning my dad calls me and asks if he and my mom could, for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, spend the night at our place. This was 9 in the morning, and I had not even had coffee yet. After slinking over to Tracey's desk and asking her (at 9:20), I called my parents back and agreed. Even though it was KIND OF MAYBE A SHORT NOTICE on their part. *pant pant*
In any case, the plan was for me to go home, change the sheets on the guest bed, do the last of the dishes, de-gay the house, clean the bathroom, and just in general, get ready for my parents to show up at 10:15, ready for sleep. Tracey was going to a meeting after work, and was going to come home after seven and make us meatloaf.
So, I come home, gleefully unwrap the used copy of "The West Wing: Season 4" that I had just gotten in the mail, and get to work. Things to do: taking down the clothes that were drying all over every surface, doing the dishes, changing the sheets, taking down the "I ♥ Porn" sticker (as well as naked Sam Winchester) from the fridge, and then cleaning the bathroom.
And everything is going just fine, until this:
falls down this:
Let me explain to you why this is important. That toy right there is Tom Sawyer, who lives on a float next to Huckleberry Finn.
Like this!
And they both belong to Tracey.
Tracey can't even remember when she got them as a kid, and has known them all her life. They are her bath buddies. They were with her for her entire childhood (with visual proof in her home movies! Which we had JUST WATCHED! And SAW THEM!) and then, after many years of missing them, her mom had found them and given them to her one very important Christmas, when she was already an adult, and so basically: THEY ARE VERY VERY IMPORTANT. LIKE, REALLY.
And I happened to - ACCIDENTALLY. ACCIDENTALLY. - drop one down the drain.
My first reaction was to panic and move out. Then, I took off my pants and got into the tub. I could barely see his sad little head way, WAY down the drain, and I realized that there was no way in hell I was going to get him out by any human means. But - dammit! - I was going to TRY.
I armed myself with a flashlight and several long kitchen implements. I tried sticking two long-ass stirring spoons down and kind of squishing him in between, but they proved to be unwieldy in the narrow drain, and totally useless.
Next, I tried tongs - and, again, they were just a smidge too wide, and entirely unhelpful. I searched the house for any long and skinny sticks to help me, but came up with nothing at all. Putting my pants back on very sadly, I waited for Tracey. But how could I TELL her. I agonized over this for the ten minutes it took her to get home.
Before she even took off her coat, I said: "I did a bad thing."
"Okay."
"...in the tub." Pause. "Take off your coat and I'll show you."
Tracey, with terror in her eyes, took off her coat and I followed her into the bathroom.
"I dropped something down the drain," I explained, and then as she parted the shower curtain, I yelled out very desperately: "IT WAS ONE OF THE TOYS. I AM SO SORRY. HE FELL DOWN THE WELL. I COULDN'T STOP HIM."
Uhm. She wasn't very happy, but we got to work immediately. (It's kind of easy not to see the utter sadness in your girlfriend's eyes when she is face down in the tub. That helped.)
The next twenty minutes involved us running around the house and rummaging in every drawer, while trying all kinds of sundry contraptions to get the poor guy out, as he sloshed around the bottom of the drain.
For our housewarming, a friend of Tracey's gave us the "Suck & Blow" game. Tracey actually attempted sucking Tom Sawyer up through one of those tubes. (Yes, I probably won't be kissing her for a little while.) (Also, we live in a very Freudian household.)
I tried using more forks, as well as a bungie cord with the hook at the end. NOTHING WORKED. We could never shower again!
Then, Tracey had this idea: tape a knife to two butter knives, and try to stick it in Tom Sawyer's head and pull him up that way. Not the ideal solution, but she would rather have him back with a hole in his head than not have him back at all. I wasn't woman enough to stick anything into anybody's anything, so I let her take the first stab. As it were.
We attempted this maneuver for a WHILE, but he kept MOVING, and we were afraid of dislodging him and losing him in the drain completely. Tracey tried, I tried - nothing worked.
While she kept trying to knife Tom, I went around the house, thinking of anything - ANYTHING AT ALL - that might help us get him back.
"HEY!" I said, apparently channeling the desperation of Penny in "Dirty Dancing" (and if you want to defriend me over this, you totally can), "What if we use a WIRE HANGER?"
"OOh! Let's try it!"
And so we did. We extended and bent it, until it was a squishy thing with a narrow hook on the end, and I got bodily in the tub to begin the poking. It was slow-going, but it kept working. Meaning, we could actually get him up, until we could almost touch him, and then he would fall back down again. And again. And again. And AGAIN. It was an exercise in frustration. Also, gross drain matter.
At one point, I got him up and, in a very determined and quiet kind of way, said to Tracey: "Give me the knife."
She obediently handed my the knife and I attempted to stick it in Tom's head.
It didn't work. And then it didn't work. Again. AND AGAIN.
Then, Tracey took over. She was in there for quite a while. Like. A long while. She was nearly ready to give up, and I wondered if I would end up spending the rest of the night pantsless in our bath tub (because I WAS NEVER GOING TO GIVE UP), when slowly - OH SO VERY SLOWLY - she got him up, and up, and then gently grabbed him with her fingers and - TOOK HIM OUT OF THE DRAIN OMG *COLLAPSES*.
Guys. It took FORTY MINUTES. But we GOT TOM SAWYER OUT OF THE WELL. I am NEVER CLEANING THE BATHROOM EVER AGAIN.
(Also, all of Tracey's priceless childhood memories have now been moved away from any watery holes ever, the end.)
At least my parents aren't due until 10:15?
YAY.
*drinks*
*heavily*
*sigh*
Okay, so, this morning my dad calls me and asks if he and my mom could, for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, spend the night at our place. This was 9 in the morning, and I had not even had coffee yet. After slinking over to Tracey's desk and asking her (at 9:20), I called my parents back and agreed. Even though it was KIND OF MAYBE A SHORT NOTICE on their part. *pant pant*
In any case, the plan was for me to go home, change the sheets on the guest bed, do the last of the dishes, de-gay the house, clean the bathroom, and just in general, get ready for my parents to show up at 10:15, ready for sleep. Tracey was going to a meeting after work, and was going to come home after seven and make us meatloaf.
So, I come home, gleefully unwrap the used copy of "The West Wing: Season 4" that I had just gotten in the mail, and get to work. Things to do: taking down the clothes that were drying all over every surface, doing the dishes, changing the sheets, taking down the "I ♥ Porn" sticker (as well as naked Sam Winchester) from the fridge, and then cleaning the bathroom.
And everything is going just fine, until this:
falls down this:
Let me explain to you why this is important. That toy right there is Tom Sawyer, who lives on a float next to Huckleberry Finn.
Like this!
And they both belong to Tracey.
Tracey can't even remember when she got them as a kid, and has known them all her life. They are her bath buddies. They were with her for her entire childhood (with visual proof in her home movies! Which we had JUST WATCHED! And SAW THEM!) and then, after many years of missing them, her mom had found them and given them to her one very important Christmas, when she was already an adult, and so basically: THEY ARE VERY VERY IMPORTANT. LIKE, REALLY.
And I happened to - ACCIDENTALLY. ACCIDENTALLY. - drop one down the drain.
My first reaction was to panic and move out. Then, I took off my pants and got into the tub. I could barely see his sad little head way, WAY down the drain, and I realized that there was no way in hell I was going to get him out by any human means. But - dammit! - I was going to TRY.
I armed myself with a flashlight and several long kitchen implements. I tried sticking two long-ass stirring spoons down and kind of squishing him in between, but they proved to be unwieldy in the narrow drain, and totally useless.
Next, I tried tongs - and, again, they were just a smidge too wide, and entirely unhelpful. I searched the house for any long and skinny sticks to help me, but came up with nothing at all. Putting my pants back on very sadly, I waited for Tracey. But how could I TELL her. I agonized over this for the ten minutes it took her to get home.
Before she even took off her coat, I said: "I did a bad thing."
"Okay."
"...in the tub." Pause. "Take off your coat and I'll show you."
Tracey, with terror in her eyes, took off her coat and I followed her into the bathroom.
"I dropped something down the drain," I explained, and then as she parted the shower curtain, I yelled out very desperately: "IT WAS ONE OF THE TOYS. I AM SO SORRY. HE FELL DOWN THE WELL. I COULDN'T STOP HIM."
Uhm. She wasn't very happy, but we got to work immediately. (It's kind of easy not to see the utter sadness in your girlfriend's eyes when she is face down in the tub. That helped.)
The next twenty minutes involved us running around the house and rummaging in every drawer, while trying all kinds of sundry contraptions to get the poor guy out, as he sloshed around the bottom of the drain.
For our housewarming, a friend of Tracey's gave us the "Suck & Blow" game. Tracey actually attempted sucking Tom Sawyer up through one of those tubes. (Yes, I probably won't be kissing her for a little while.) (Also, we live in a very Freudian household.)
I tried using more forks, as well as a bungie cord with the hook at the end. NOTHING WORKED. We could never shower again!
Then, Tracey had this idea: tape a knife to two butter knives, and try to stick it in Tom Sawyer's head and pull him up that way. Not the ideal solution, but she would rather have him back with a hole in his head than not have him back at all. I wasn't woman enough to stick anything into anybody's anything, so I let her take the first stab. As it were.
We attempted this maneuver for a WHILE, but he kept MOVING, and we were afraid of dislodging him and losing him in the drain completely. Tracey tried, I tried - nothing worked.
While she kept trying to knife Tom, I went around the house, thinking of anything - ANYTHING AT ALL - that might help us get him back.
"HEY!" I said, apparently channeling the desperation of Penny in "Dirty Dancing" (and if you want to defriend me over this, you totally can), "What if we use a WIRE HANGER?"
"OOh! Let's try it!"
And so we did. We extended and bent it, until it was a squishy thing with a narrow hook on the end, and I got bodily in the tub to begin the poking. It was slow-going, but it kept working. Meaning, we could actually get him up, until we could almost touch him, and then he would fall back down again. And again. And again. And AGAIN. It was an exercise in frustration. Also, gross drain matter.
At one point, I got him up and, in a very determined and quiet kind of way, said to Tracey: "Give me the knife."
She obediently handed my the knife and I attempted to stick it in Tom's head.
It didn't work. And then it didn't work. Again. AND AGAIN.
Then, Tracey took over. She was in there for quite a while. Like. A long while. She was nearly ready to give up, and I wondered if I would end up spending the rest of the night pantsless in our bath tub (because I WAS NEVER GOING TO GIVE UP), when slowly - OH SO VERY SLOWLY - she got him up, and up, and then gently grabbed him with her fingers and - TOOK HIM OUT OF THE DRAIN OMG *COLLAPSES*.
Guys. It took FORTY MINUTES. But we GOT TOM SAWYER OUT OF THE WELL. I am NEVER CLEANING THE BATHROOM EVER AGAIN.
(Also, all of Tracey's priceless childhood memories have now been moved away from any watery holes ever, the end.)
At least my parents aren't due until 10:15?
YAY.
*drinks*
*heavily*
no subject
no subject
By the by, I am to be seeing your home movies.
no subject