Okay. Not quite as tragic as Kanal (an excellent historical dramatization by Anrzej Wajda in which the entire Freedom Army in Warsaw is routed in the sewer tunnels).
But still.
I wake up. I throw a towel around me for a nice hot morning shower. I stretch and yawn, then sit on the pot for a nice morning pee. I flush the toilet aaaannnnddd...
It's a geyser, even smellier than the Yellowstone type. I start plunging like a banshee, screams included, and several cuss words. (Who needs coffee? I've got a malfunctioning toilet.)
I scream, "Robert, help me!"
He cries out, "Michelle, I'm coming!"
Whew. Thank God. I plunge with less vigor.
Robert shows up in his plaid pj bottoms, carrying my glasses. "Here you go honey. I love you." And he goes back to bed.
Now that I've yelled at him for the past five minutes and recorded the incident in my largely depressing blog I feel tons better. I love married life. I love Robert. I only want to smack him half the time. The rest of the time I just want to be his snuggle-bug.
