Port-o-Potty-o-Rama

Jax has struck again, and this time he has accomplices

Abut a week or so ago, he apparently shoved something (we think it may be a ball) down the guest toilet, a trick not quite so bad, until you add that Ryan woke up a couple of nights later, dumped a load in the clogged commode (I'm a poet...) and I didn't find out until 2 days later, when I once again went in search of "that fucking smell".

I immediately alerted Shawn, seeing as how our contract clearly states that I will wipe as many bums as necessary, will scrub as many toilets as may beckon me, but under no circumstances will I ever plunge.

Unfortunately, the same day I told him about the clogged pot, Jax up and flushed the entire box of wipes down the downstairs toilet, rendering it useless as well. Shawn apparently thought that was the potty I was referring to, and fixed the problem lickety-split.

That was 3 days ago. Due to my guilt over forcing him to do the dirtiest of dirty work, I refrained from nagging about the other toilet, thinking he was pre-treating it or something, I don't know, but last night I finally gave in, and demanded, nay, gagged that he do something about the port-o-potty to whom we had apparently rented space.

So after a long stressful day at work, he spent the a good portion of his evening not hammering out the take-home work he'd planned on finishing, but instead spent it choking, yelling, cursing and plunging...all to no avail.

And now I'm off to call the plumber, buy more candles, and add "toilet lock" to my baby safety list.