Monday, August 13, 2012


Scene: small wood panelled bathroom in a "mountain resort" in the Poconos (a neighborhood that feels like a suburb, except half the houses are empty and deer, feral cats and turkeys are delightfully omnipresent).  My father-in-law (Hmm, Yes.  Odd that it was him, not, say, the landlord or a plumber, but having him do it was far faster) has his hands in the toilet tank, attempting to replace the flapper that closes off the bottom of the tank when the toilet is done flushing.  I am holding up the ball cock so that water doesn't keep flowing into the tank. 

The toilet says: "Wheeeee!  Squphh. Huff huff huff. Squph. Squit.  Squitter. Squit squit SQUIFF." 

I imagine this is what it sounds like to share lunch conversation with a porpoise.

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