Warning. If the idea of poop, or other's poop, brings on your gag reflex, you probably want to move on now.
Last night, The Boy carried a toilet plunger from his bathroom back to the bathroom in our bedroom. I had noticed several weeks ago that it was sitting in his bathroom, and frankly, I mentally patted him on the back for dealing with the clog himself instead of asking for help.
Me: "I wondered how long you were going to keep that in your bathroom."
The Boy: "I didn't put it there, that guy that used the bathroom left it there."
Me: "What are you talking about?"
The Boy: "At your party. The guy that came up and clogged up the toilet."
Me: "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? What party?"
The Boy: "Your Christmas party. He came out while I was showing Uncle M. my new recording gear in my room. He said someone before him clogged up the toilet and then he went and got the plunger."
*Hubs and I look at each other with a mixture of horror and confusion*
Me: "WHO? Who was it?"
The Boy: "I don't know, some guy."
Me: "Wait, so you are telling me that someone who is a virtual stranger to you, walked past the downstairs bathroom; climbed over the baby gate holding the dog upstairs; past the dog who would have fallen over herself to get attention from anyone; found your bathroom which I hope to God was clean; took a massive crap which plugged the toilet; THEN took himself into our room, where all the mess from downstairs was hidden and into our not-cleaned bathroom searching for a plunger?? The dusty, disgusting plunger sitting in the back corner of the toilet room of the master bathroom of the master bedroom??"
The Boy: "Yeah, pretty much."
Me: "I. Am. Horrified."
Hubs: "Yeah, no kidding!"
Me: "Wait! Let's think about this. Who is more horrified? Me, with the fact that some dude went upstairs and saw my unclean bedroom and bathroom or the dude who clogged up someone else's toilet and went in search of a plunger trying not to get caught?"
Hubs: "Good point."
The Boy: "At least you didn't have to clean the spatter in the toilet or the puddle on the floor from the plunger."
After throwing up a little in my mouth, I went back to mentally patting The Boy on the back for dealing with it and not asking for help. I'm choosing to overlook the fact that the plunger sat in his bathroom for five weeks. I'm off to find the bleach.