This year, we thought we'd escaped the downpour and spoke too soon. Last Saturday we were deciding where to go for hubs' birthday dinner when the shit hit the fan. Literally. One of the downstairs toilets has been stopping up fairly often the past few weeks. I was on the computer and Drama Kid used the loo next door. I could tell by the sound that it was in danger of overflowing. I'm now an expert at overflow stoppage and was able to avoid any spills.
Drama Dad hauled out the plunger again and went to work. And then he said "we're going to need a plumber," and I could swear I heard our credit card commit suicide and plumbers all over the city mark up their "weekend emergency service" prices.
I went into the bathroom and saw this:
You can thank me later for not getting a closer shot. Know what's worse than a bathtub full of shit? Two bathtubs full of shit! Where is Mike Rowe when you need him?
And those baskets on the floor? The ones full of toiletries that used to fit in the master bathroom cabinets at our last apartment but not our house? Yep, they were in the tub. Hubs went to get the phonebook and I tried to stifle my gag reflex and breathe through my mouth.
Roto Rooter arrived, opened up the clean out drains and sent down a snake ($125). The snake made it far enough to relieve the pressure and allow the tubs to drain, but there was still a blockage. We agreed to the extra charge to have a camera sent in (condo colonoscopy) and fully expected them to remove broken toy parts or evidence of some of Drama Kid's mischief. But the diagnosis was worse: tree roots had broken through the pipe. The new estimate? $650. Happy Birthday honey!
What about you? Do crises seem to happen to you all at once? Have you ever had a bathtub full of poo?