Milk and Cigarettes

Rambles about stuff I like.

A shitty ramble with an exciting and INFURIATING conclusion

If a man’s home is his castle, then a man’s bathroom is his throne room. (Oh right, that’s why they call it a throne in the first place!) Point is, a bathroom is a room where one should be allowed a degree of privacy, peace and quiet. It’s a time to silently reflect on all the decisions one has made throughout life, and why I thought it was necessary to eat that whole bag of cookies. Further, especially on Sunday morning, one should be able to expect to shit uninterrupted at 9:00 in the morning.

Well, with those expectations, let me tell you about yesterday morning. It’s 9:00am, I’ve had my coffee and matters are… afoot. Thus, I’m in my throne room, regretting my late night eating habits. I hear a bit of commotion downstairs, but I think it’s the dog running up and down the stairs.

Now, my bathroom has a window in it. Of course, the window has blinds, but it’s a gothic window, so there’s a big circle above the part with the blinds that has no blinds.

Image

Much to my chagrin, as I’m shitting, I see the outline of a man at my window, and I hear a terrible *scrape scrape scrape* sound. I quickly realize that, oh, it’s the fucking painters from last week, and they’re painting the outside of the house. Only no one has fucking told me about this! You’d think one would mention if some goddamn motherfucking workmen are gonna do shit around the house at 9 in the fucking morning on a cunting long motherfucking weekend!!!!

This workman, whose outline looms large in my window, proceeds to scrape the sides of my windows. Luckily, he can’t see me, because he’s only stripping the paint from the frame which is covered by the blinds.

Then I see a hand reach up to the round part of the window. He starts scraping again – I try and focus on shitting as quickly as possible – but then I hear the unmistakable clang of a rung being climbed on a ladder. I can see his hand move further up the window, so the top of his painter’s hat is peeking through the window. I’m still mid-shit, so I can’t just get up and walk away. I’m stuck, frozen in horror. And naturally, this is when my bowels decide, “Man. I can’t poop under these conditions. Just hold everything in place until this guy relaxes.”

The ladder clangs once more. The hand starts stripping the top most part of the window. I can see forehead and a bit of eyebrow through the non-blinds part of the window. There’s nothing I can do. I’m fucking trapped. I pick up a book beside me and stare intently into the pages, not seeing a thing, my face burning with embarassment.

And then I hear it. Another clang of the ladder. I dare not look at the window.

Update: I had to interrupt the writing of my story because the painter blew a fuse and needed me to flip the fuse back on. I head downstairs to the basement and lo and behold, the whole basement is leaking. The painters are using a power washer to clean something – and it just so happens that the pipe they were using is leaking into the basement. But not just leaking anywhere, no – it’s leaking into the fuse box, the tv cords, where I keep my router. Y’know, it’s leaking into basically the whole critical infrastructure of the house.

So now… the basement’s all wet, we’re going to need to call in a plumber again, and I’m never going to be able to shit in peace ever again.

What a fuckin’ day.

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May 19, 2014 - Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , ,

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