How My Boyfriend Cleans the Bathroom

This is really a story about the lethal combination of 409 and pride. Man Pride. And the combination of that with my high stress level and lack of patience at the current moment.

David declared he wanted to clean the bathroom. Fine with me, as I'm on overload, but I asked him how he was going to do it, since I have my way, which involves 409 and other cleaning products, and he has his way which involves water, unless he's surface cleaning wood, and then it involves a lot of Pledge. He wouldn't tell me, being a big boy now, I guess he doesn't have to answer to the Ms. about something I'm very particular about. But that's ok.

I came home after taking a how-to-make-ruffles class at Sheila Walker Studio in Tribeca on Sunday evening. The house smelled great! A 409 delight! The shower was running. I peeked my head in to see what a great job he must have done, but was quickly butted out. David was still cleaning the bathroom. He was cleaning the bathroom while taking a shower. In a steam room full of ammonia.

After the shower, I was making dinner. David came out, all squeaky clean and coughing. Why, his chest was irritated. How odd, he thought. I told him that he had just taken a sauna in ammonia, and that was bad. His response? "(cough) Probably." Probably? There's no "probably" about it. You do not take a shower while cleaning a bathroom with ammonia. Right? "I have sensitive (cough) lungs."

Here's where I over-reacted and sort of hit the roof. Why did I hit the roof? Because I was right at this moment. Very right, and while not being right about a lot of things, I needed a different answer from him, one that sounded something like: "I know. How foolish I was!" I finished making our dinner, let him load his own plate and watched Desperate and Grays while ignoring him. McDreamy was looking better and better in his silver-bullet mobile home. David dutifully attempted to bring me out of my "dark place," which was appreciated, and worked after the shows were over. I was getting ready for bed, washing my face, brushing teeth, etc., when I flushed the toilet after throwing in a tissue used to remove my makeup. The toilet vomited.

Me: "DAVID! The toilet vomited!"
David: while lounging on the couch: "Yeah, it does that sometimes"
Water was pouring all over the floor, headed for the hallway in currents.
Me: "David, it's all over the floor!"

David came in to check it out. The water eventually stopped coming. He was soaking up the water with towels when he said: "Huh. It's never done this before when I put paper towels in it." David had put the paper towels from cleaning the bathroom in the toilet. Bounty. The super absorbent towel. Down the toilet. After he got the floor cleaned up, he flushed it again. Overflowidge.

I just continued brushing my teeth while he cleaned. Smiling my pearly whites, because I didn't need to say a word. The toilet spoke. Better yet, the next morning, when the super came in to unclog the toilet, he couldn't. We needed a new toilet.

Lesson learned? A girl should always have a new toilet after a fight.