Playing with Drano
Fool me once, says the President, shame on you. Fool me twice… well, W. says you just don’t fool him twice.
I, on the other hand, am apparently a different story. (Let me stop for a moment to say how insanely terrifying it is to have to consider yourself dumber than a man who can barely walk and chew gum at the same time, a man who made the news for choking on a pretzel, a man who says “noo-kyoo-lar,” a man who… okay, I have to stop now, or I may end up depressing myself permanently.)
I’m still recovering from the exhaustion and viral (possibly bacterial? at this point, I don’t know what it is — you could say whooping cough and I’d likely believe you) infection I picked up while in Saudi Arabia, which means I’m a sniffly, coughy, achy mess. Last night, I woke up with a coughing spasm so bad I threw up the dinner I’d eaten several hours earlier.
I did not, however, throw it up in the toilet. When I’m close to vomiting, the idea of staring into the toilet grosses me out so much that the possible vomit becomes definite vomit, so instead I chose to cough over the sink… and vomited. And vomited. And vomited, and vomited, and vomited.
Then my sink went on strike. Apparently sinks don’t like that much vomit at one time and will suddenly decide to stop draining at any given moment. So I decided, “Let me pour some Drano into this mess. It’ll clear everything right up!”
It was late. I was dehydrated and coughing. I couldn’t be expected to think as well!
I added Drano to the clogged mess in my sink and waited. Nothing happened. No movement. Nothing except an increase in the chemicalized smell that tells you there’s unpackaged Drano in the room. I started to panic that the Drano was eating at my beautiful Corian sink (which it wasn’t) or that I was going to have vomit in my sink forever and for always. I needed a solution to the problem at hand, and I found one: methodically transfer all the vomit in the sink to the toilet, where it should have gone in the first place.
Transfer, transfer. Flush, flush. Fresh paranoia: What if the Drano eats my toilet and and I have liquid toilet mess all over my bathroom and I have to get everything completely replaced?!?!?
It was laaaaaaaate. Did I mention I’m sick?
More flushing. Frantic Googling. (Side note: As much as I’m trying to give A9 a chance, how can that search engine possibly become a verb? A9-ing doesn’t have the same musical panache. Or the convenient browser toolbar, for that matter.) The Internet, in all its wisdom, informed me that my toilet was quite safe from the ravenous effects of Drano. Apparently, the only reason they tell you not to use it in a toilet is because it won’t actually do you any good. I felt kind of silly, then, especially as I’d had a little bit of time (and adrenaline) to wake up some.
On the positive side: This time, I didn’t stick my hand in the Drano-water.