When a Woman Needs a Man.....Dammit

I had company staying at my apt most of last weekend. Male company, that is. We'll refer to him as KC. For those of you keeping up, you'll now know that I had two male fish on my line at the same time.

Any woman knows that when you're having a man stay with you, you need to either A) schedule your pooping appropriately (such as finding an appropriate public pooping area where no one will recognize you or your smell) or; B) wait to poop until the male has gone. There may be more options, but I chose plan B. As soon as KC left the area on Sunday afternoon/evening....I headed to the loo to do the doodoo. How many times have you plugged the loo with your own doodoo? It's a rarity for me, quite honestly. But in recent months my butt has gotten bigger, so perhaps the poop chute follows in suit. Leave it to me though, to NOT have a plunger. What self-respecting single woman really wants to go out and purchase one of THOSE?? Fortunately for me, I have another full bathroom in my apt. I figured I'd wait it out. See who's more subborn....me or my poop. Poop has to disolve over time, right??? These are rational thoughts.

Time flies and I'm still using the second bathroom and am occasionally flushing my main toilie just to check to see if the poop has disolved. By Thursday there is still no progress. Shit. Literally. How can this be? Does poop NOT disolve? If not, where does it go and what does it doodoo once it's gone from sight? What's a girl to doo? The solution is to A) take the plunge and buy a plunger, or; B) call apt maintenance. Which option is less humiliating? And where in the hell do you go to buy a toilet plunger? Surely they're not hard to come by. These are the times when a single, independent, allegedly self-sufficient woman WISHES SHE HAD A MAN. She wishes she were in a relationship that had been established long enough that plugging the loo would be funny and not something to use against her in a breakup. Men don't mind buying these things. Men look at each other with pride when they see each other carrying plungers around. They think to themselves, "Wow! That manly-man must have really laid some pipe!"

And so, the singleton search for the plunger is on. I checked the grocery store when I picked up my prescriptions. Looked by the bathroom items, looked by the brooms and cleaning items....no luck. Great. Now I have to head somewhere else after being told by Satan at the Grocery Store that I looked like shit. (is there a theme here?) So I head to Super Target. Surely Super Target has one. They have everything. They're the equivalent of Super WalMart but without the cluster fuck that only just BEGINS in the parking lot. As I wander Target avoiding any customer service people who may have been tempted to ask, "Can I help you find something," I head to the "manly" areas of the store. I go through automotive, tools, lighting, etc. No luck. Maybe it was somewhere else, maybe not. This was when I realized that Target is really marketed towards women and women with children. The "manly" sections in Target left a whole lot to be desired. This explains why you rarely see men shopping alone at Target. Really, if Target were listening, they'd take note of the fact that they're excluding an entire toilet plunging shopping base and would beef things up. I left with my poopy thoughts and still private humiliation.

As I left, I prayed to God: "Okay, God. You know I'm in a sitch right now. I'm going to the WalMart. You know the one, the HATED WalMart. But only because I'm desperate. Please, please, PLEASE DO NOT MAKE ME GO TO HOME DEPOT. They'll know I don't belong there. I look bad today, but I don't look like a lesbian construction worker. My manicure will give me away and they'll laugh at me and throw me out. If you do this, I promise I'll go to church on Easter Sunday. Best Regards, Scooby."

I now felt that God was on board with me and my mission. I bravely enter the hated WalMart and was of course, greeted at the door by the geri in blue. How sweet.

Scooby: "No, I don't need a basket. I'm just buying one thing."

Geri: "Are you sure? You can take one just in case. "

Scooby: "Thank you, no. I'll be okay."

As I walk away, I'm secretly amused thinking about putting a toilet plunger in a basket and driving that damn thing all through the store, up to the counter, and brazenly putting it at the very end of the roller-counter-thingie so that it could proudly ride up to the check-out clerk. Oh, to have those balls.

God was with me in the WalMart (a.k.a. the "WalMarts" if you're of a certain heritage south of our border) and I found the toilet plunger.....WITH THE PIPE. Good Lord, they make this hard for a woman.

Do you know how far they've come with toilet plungers? We're not just limited to toilet plungers on a wooden stick. Not just the choice between an orange or black plunger attachment. We now have plungers that shrink to fit under shelves in counters. I LOVE that idea. And I'd love to hide my shame under a counter. But, being the borderline OCD that I am, I have to think about the germie ring that the plunger would leave under the counter IF EVER (God, let's hope not) it has to be used again. Eureka! Now they have a plunger that has it's own little suitcase. You put the plunger in the suitcase, do a little twist, and the suitcase lid closes. Plunger hidden. Except for an obnoxious handle sticking out of the top. This is MUCH more suited for my OCD purposes and somehow, in my mind, a plunger in disguise is no plunger at all.