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There are times I wonder if I live in a 60s sit com.

Preamble: We have two bathrooms in our home.  One has just been finished after 2 years in flux.  The other has served admirably over the last few years.  But the toilet flusher broke 3 months ago.  I’ve been asking Mr. JB to fix it for me since it broke.  We’ve been flushing it with water from an old cat litter bucket (TRANSLATION: *I* have been using an old cat litter bucket to flush it multiple times in the middle of the night). I had planned to do it myself, but wasn’t sure about how or if I understood the instructions I found.  So I asked again.  And again.  And then Monday night.  Tuesday night. “Honey, I hate to nag, but could you PLEASE fix the toilet?”

ON with WEDNESDAY NIGHT’S STORY…

So last night we went out for a lovely dinner.  I had lobster & pasta.  Brought home a piece of cheesecake for later in the evening.  Ate it.

FELT LIKE POO.

Went on like that for the next hour or so.  Went up to bed early with Mr. JB (8ish).    Started to get ready for bed…and had to make a dash for the bathroom.  Like a going out of business sale, everything must go.  From my marriage bed, my husband subtly turns up the TV to ear splitting levels.  I finish up, go to the sink, rinse my face and mouth, take a minute to compose myself….and then realize that after all of that, I need to fill up the G***D**** bucket to wash down the remnants of my dinner.

I clean up.  I even clean the bathroom to make sure it isn’t too gross to work on.  Go into the bedroom.  Mr. JB is proped up in bed staring at the tv.  I just stand there.  Hands on hips.  Waiting.  He finally turns it down to normal levels.  I use every bit of strength I have to say “Sweetie, could you please fix the toilet?” in a normal tone of voice.

Mr. JB doesn’t realize that he rolls his eyes as he says “Do you WANT me to do it NOW?”

“I just want you to do it soon.”

“But do you want me to do it NOW?” 

“I don’t want to make you get out of bed, but I would like you to do it SOON.”

“Isn’t the bucket-flushing working?”

I take a deep, deep breath.  “YES.  Of course it is. But, and I know you may not be able to relate to this, I am peeing several times a night.  And, apparently, I’ve had some nausea that’s resulted in vomiting.  I’m not sure you heard that over the blaring tv, but I WAS throwing up in there.  While I certainly CAN flush with the bucket, I’m not feeling that hot to begin with and all I want is to come back to bed, but I can’t because I have to FLUSH WITH THE STUPID BUCKET.”

Mr. JB looks at me blankly. “So do you want me to fix it NOW?”

Another deep breath. “Look.  I don’t want to be the wife who makes you get out of bed to do the chore you’ve been putting off for months, but I think I’ve got the right to play that card right now.  I’m carrying your child, the least you can do for me is to FIX THE FUCKING TOILET. Do it tomorrow if you want, but be prepared for me to be pissed if you don’t get it done before you leave town this weekend.”

Mr. JB finally looks a little sheepish.  I think the actual hassle of this whole situation from my perspective is dawning on him.  Mumbles something about feeling bad he hasn’t done it yet.  “Ok.  I’ll do it now.”  He then huffily gets out of bed and stomps around the house, gathering tools, cursing under his breath, not looking at me, crabby that I kept him from bed, annoyed that he had to do it NOW (which, I shall remind you, good reader, he did not).

It takes him all of 20 minutes to do it.  He comes back to bed all sulky and grumpy.  I thank him sweetly….and then proceed to sleep the WHOLE NIGHT without one trip to the bathroom.

Told him he didn’t have to do it right then.