We had a near dis-ass-ter of epic proportions yesterday. Let me start by saying Hubby, bless his heart, has many endearing qualities; being a handy man around the house is not one of them. I would rate him as falling quite a distance short of Tim the Toolman in that area. When there are things that need repair around our home, he has a tendency to procrastinate.
Take our toilet seat, for example. It has been "loose" for a couple of years. The bolts that are supposed to hold it securely have loosened over time, and as a result, you must perch precariously, or the dang thing will pinch you! I speak from painful experience, here. More than once when I've dropped my behind there in a hurry, the seat would somehow slip a little to the side and catch a bit of my thigh between the seat and the actual bowl. Not a fun time! (And you can stifle the comments about my excessive mass of thighs being the problem!)
This loose screw (the john's, not mine or Hubby's) had been a problem for a while. Over two years ago he purchased a new toilet seat, saying the old bolts were rusted and the whole contraption needed replacing. (Yeah, over two years ago--I said he tends to procrastinate.) On the bright side, after enough painful pinches, I have learned to proceed with caution when touching my tender tushe to the throne!
As I said earlier, we had a near dis-ass-ter. Hubby went to do his business, parking his pooper on the pot, and a loud crack was heard. (No he didn't pass gas--that time anyway!) The toilet seat actually broke in half...completely! Fortunately, his bare butt is broad enough to keep from falling in. I might not have been so lucky, had I been the passenger aboard the hopper.
I will give him credit, he knew exactly where he'd stored the once new seat two years ago. Having been in the closet for all that time, the seat can hardly be called new. I guess I'll settle for "never been shat on."
"I'll need a wrench, a screwdriver, and a chair," he barked. (The arthritis in his knees makes it impossible to do anything on his knees--so sad for me, but I digress!) Excited that he was actually going to fix something, I ran to get the required tools from the mostly unused toolbox in the closet, and then carried one of the dining room chairs into the bathroom.
He slaved, tirelessly, without the sustenance of food, water, or diet soda, for at least 10 minutes, before: TA DA! Job completed! I really felt this feat needed to be recorded for posterity. The process is documented below:
Here he is...assessing the damage!
Preparing to tighten the nuts on the bolts....not his nuts, the hexagonal nuts that hold the bolts on the back of the seat in place, silly!
And showing off the finished product! (I'll skip the trial run demo video, thank you.)
He has now made certain that my posterior will no longer be in peril when I perch on the pot! You may laugh, but only if you haven't lived in fear of peeing or pooping and putting your derriere in danger!
I take it back--Tim "The Toolman" Taylor has nothing on my man! My hero--even if it took two years and the toilet seat actually breaking under his butt to get him to fix it!