Sunday, November 23, 2008

True Confessions OR Potty Time at the I'm OK, You're OK Corral

I am a petty woman. It's terrible, really, the smallness of mind I exhibit given half a chance.

Yesterday—in crisis with a clogged toilet—Katie called for advice and guidance.

Lest anyone miss the salient point of this story--SHE DID NOT CALL HER FATHER, who lives less than 10 miles from her and considers himself the handyman for the ages.

She did not call her grandfather, who IS the handyman for the ages.

She also did not call her boyfriend or his mother or his father, her best friend or her best friend's boyfriend, her upstairs neighbors or her landlord, any of whom would have come to her rescue.

She is this mother's daughter: she took care of it herself. she called me to hold her virtual hand. She trusted me to know what to do and to understand how revolting it is to touch a toilet with anything other than her rosy cheeks or a scrub brush.

I am SO buying that girl some rubber gloves for Christmas. Pink ones. I'll attach some maribou feathers to the cuffs, maybe glue on a gem or two.

Might even wear my I WIN hat while I work.


Go Mama said...


Michelle O'Neil said...

Love it!

See! I said you were a tough chick. You raised one too.

Amber said...

you make me laugh.


Deb said...

Not one damn small thing here. Katie is indeed her mother's daughter.

kario said...

Perhaps a pink plunger to go along with the gloves is in order?

Love you two.

luckyzmom said...

I don't hear from my daughter as often as I would like. I feel so proud though when she calls me out of the blue and wants to know how to do something like this. So, I know the warm glow you must have experienced!