Stories: Flooding his John

For those of you who don’t know me, allow me to introduce myself. I’m the clumsy girl who always finds herself in the most outlandish and unbelieveable shenanigans. Sure, we all have embarassing moments, but I just feel like my moments are far more severe and frequent than the next person. So much so, that when I may injure myself, the surrounding people don’t even ask if I’m ok, they just shake their heads and say, “Only you would (insert act of ridiculousness that I would only do here).” To add insult to injury, my clumsiness is shadowed with a dark cloud of unfortunate events. I’m not talking falling down the stairs, tripping on air, or running into standing objects clumsy and unfortunate (Yes, I’ve done all of these multiple times), I’m talking so clumsy and unfortunate that it belongs in a movie. In  fact, they did make a movie about it. Remember Along Came Polly….

My moment of humiliation began a few years back in the new apartment of the guy that I was seeing at the time. Now he and I weren’t together, but we were seeing each other pretty regularly and doing things that couples do. For the sake of the story, let’s just call this guy Leonidas. Leonidas had his doubts about me because he was 7 years my senior and thought that I may have been a little too immature at 22 to handle a relationship with someone who was pushing 30. As someone who prided herself on being more emotionally and mentally developed than your average 22 year old, I couldn’t disagree with him more. Unfortunately, this wasn’t so evident in the way I dealt with a series of truly unfortunate events on a particular day.

So Leonidas had just moved into his new apartment with his roommate, and he invited me over to come watch a movie and have a few drinks as we often did. Leonidas made spaghetti, I picked up some vodka, and we watched The Last Dragon, a movie that I hadn’t seen up until that point and that he was determined for me to watch. All through the movie, I had the most uncomfortable feeling in my tummy from the spaghetti we had eaten. Like REALLY uncomfortable. Like BGs uncomfortable. I couldn’t understand for the life of me why this spaghetti had me so f’d up until I realized that the ground turkey that I thought I was eating turned out to be italian sausage. Pork. I don’t do pork. I decided that I wasn’t going to sit in discomfort all night, so I went to go do my thug thizzle in the bathroom as soon as he fell asleep. I’m not sure if it was the Lincoln log that I laid down or the excessive amount of toilet paper that did it, but before I knew it, that mofo was filling up fast! I reached behind the toilet to turn the water off, but at that point, it was too late. The damage was done, and there was dirty toilet water all over the floor.

The mature thing to do would have been to tell him what I did so that he could offer a solution. Nope. Instead, I crept around the apartment in search of a mop or something resembling a cleaning supply, and hoped that neither Leonidas or his roommate would wake up to the disaster in the bathroom. After failing to find a mop, bucket, paper towel, or ANYTHING, I went and grabbed one of Leonidas’ old t-shirts from the dirty clothes pile. I was careful in my selection and made sure that the cleaning shirt of shame wouldn’t be missed, because not only was I going to use it to clean up dirty toilet water, I was going to burn it and toss the ashes over the balcony.

So it began. I soaked up as much of the mess as I could in absolute silence, and then went back to bed as quietly as I could. But not quiet enough. He woke up and went to the bathroom. I had to do something, and do something fast! I quickly came up with a list of resolutions:

1. I’d grab my clothes, my purse, and make a mad dash and deal with the fact that I’d probably never speak to him again.

2. I’d lie and say he made the mess in his drunken stupor but probably didn’t remember.

3. I’d lie and say I just took a shower and fell out the tub and splashed water everywhere.

4. DENY! DENY! DENY!

I couldn’t move or think quickly enough before I heard the sound of our datingship come to a screeching halt.

“Why is the floor wet?”

“I don’t know sweetie, what are you talkin about?”

“The bathroom floor is damp and the rug is soaked.”

“Really? Wow, that’s weird.”

“Did you flood the toilet?”

“Huh? Yeah, no I think I did.”

 “You THINK you did?”

“Yes. Yes, I did. Sorry.” 

The conversation continued with him discovering the dirty t-shirt that I stuffed back into the dirty clothes pile. That’s right, I put that nasty ass shirt all over his other good clothes. He then went on to tell me how absolutely silly and childish this whole thing was and that it could’ve all been prevented if I would’ve just told him what happened in the first place. I got sad and asked if he wanted me to leave, but he told me to stay and cooked breakfast for me the next morning.  We never ended up getting together for several different reasons unrelated to this event, but in the back of my mind, I’ve always known that it’s kinda hard to wife up the girl who used your shirt to clean up pissy water that messed up your bathroom rug as a result of flooding your toilet. I wouldn’t date me either.

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