My boyfriend and I have reached a level of intimacy where I am starting to get to know the way his toilet flushes. So, though I won’t yet use his bathroom without turning on the sink to create a healthy obfuscating white noise that blocks out any potential bathroom noises, he still gets in his car and drives all the way to his apartment whenever his Mother Nature beckons, so at least I’m getting comfortable with him.
And since I’ve let myself finally get comfortable with him, I have learned to spot any anomalies in his toilet’s flushing tendencies—and on my last visit to Jeremy’s restroom, there was an “anomaly.” And so after I got over my initial ten-minute shock and humiliation by pretending to casually eat my grapes and quesadillas Jeremy had just made for me, I decided it was time to test my boyfriend’s love for me.
I buried my head into his chest and asked, “Do you love me?”
Jeremy: “Yes. Why?”
Me: “How much?”
Jeremy: “What’d you do?”
Me (Barely audible): “I may have clogged your toilet.”
Jeremy (relieved and laughing): Is that all? Oh, geez.
I then immediately retreated to the couch and attempted to bury my whole body under its cushions, under the guise of needing consolation for my humiliation; really, I was just trying to bide some time for the bathroom to air out before we descended upon the Clog.
When finally we braved the Clog, I insisted that any smells present already existed. Jeremy mercifully assured me that the Clog probably lingered from a previous occupant. And then we went in. Together. Scared, but oh-so-brave.
And the toilet flushed perfectly normally. Of course.
“That’s it, Sierra!? That’s it! You didn’t even need to tell me, and I never would have known! There was nothing even wrong!”
“Jeremy!” I insisted, “It flushed different!
Jeremy (still laughing): “Did it, Sierra? Did it flush different? Did it act up? Did it misbehave?”
Me: “Yes! It did! I swear!”
Then, in the special sort of euphoria that only comes from not clogging your boyfriend’s toilet, I tackled him onto the couch, where he assured me that he could handle a lifetime of unclogging toilets with me. And then in a moment of utmost sweetness, he said to me, “Sierra, I love you. But sometimes, you’re retarded.”
It was the nicest thing anyone has ever said.
