So, you know me, I’m a people-pleaser. So I must post a silly/embarrasing post after such a serious, get-down to business post yesterday. And if you’re still reeling from your glance in the Mirror of Truth, well, I’m sure I can be convinced to clean your toilets and scrub your baseboards. Because that’s just the kind of gal I am. Gotta make up for shocking your system so.
So this little tale took place about 7 years ago… we were in our previous house that was built in the 1940’s. I loved that house. But one thing I didn’t care for were the pipes. It seems that decades of tree root evasions had taken their toll. We had to put root killer down the pipes a few times a year just to keep them at bay. On top of that, back in the 1940’s they apparently enjoyed using corner pieces when laying the pipes. That’s all fine and dandy when everything is flowing nice and nothing bigger than a sunflower seed has to pass through. One afternoon we had a big back up. And I mean BIG! Hubby is super handy around the house. You name, he can probably fix it. But after snaking the pipes himself a couple times and not being able to fix the problem, he decided it was time to call in the Big Guns. So the Big Guns came.
Unfortunately, the Big Guns came in the form of the maintenance guys Hubby had become friends with from the college we had both attended. Let me tell you, I have NEVER been so happy to have NOT been present at the time of handymen working at the house. Not that I didn’t like them. On the contrary, they were very nice men. They were very efficient. They were very tidy. They were on top of their game. Boy were they ever. It didn’t take them long to identify the problem. Not only that, but they got to pull all the guilty objects out of the pipes and make a nice, neat pile out of them.
They called Hubby out soon after they started to let him know that we had a white mice problem. Hubby (like me when he retold me the story later) was horrified. What the heck were mice doing in our pipes? We didn’t have any in the house. Where were they coming from???!! The guys started laughing and let him know that another name for them is, well, maybe I shouldn’t tell you the second name they have because it’s a tad on the risque side. Anyway, White Mice are what plumbing guys have nicknamed…. tampons! Yes, thank you VERY much, those guys got to pull out, one by one and with the “tails” between their male thumbs and index fingers (at least that’s how my horrified mind likes to replay it), my USED tampons.
I’m sorry, I know it’s gross. But I’m still so scarred from it, somehow it feels like if I bare this part of my soul to you, I’ll start to heal… That and if I can spare one of you gals from the horror of experiencing this yourselves, I’ll count it worth the emotional wreck it’ll cause me to be tomorrow. Because when I realize tomorrow, that I’ve posted this for real, that it wasn’t a dream I had, and that you, Readersin the Midwest to East coast, have all taken a nice gander at this story before I even have a chance to come back and delete it, well, it’s going to be a serious, avoid the Internet and hide-my-head-in-the-sand day. But I do it to spare you. And because I’m a people-pleaser. =0)
So, after the guys explained the white mice problem to Hubby, they went on to tell him that he needed to inform me not to flush my tampons. “Ummm, Hi, I know we’ve never met before but you’re the expert here, and I’ve just been dying to ask you, should I really be flushing my used tampons or is it better to wrap up the messy little things in wads of toilet paper and put them in the bathroom trash that just might get tipped over on accident and all it’s contents spilled all over the floor?” That’s what I like to imagine myself saying… had I been there to actually ask it.
So ladies (and I’m sooooo sorry if there are any men reading this story. Let me know because maybe I can vaccum out your truck or dust your garage to make it up to you), here’s the plumbers advice to all us menstrating women, because apparently this is a common problem… Do not flush your used tampons. Instead, wrap them up in wads toilet paper and place carefully in the trash, under as many layers of cotton balls, tissues and q-tips as possible. And my advice to add to that? Take your trash out often. I have a 6 1/2 year old, a 4 1/2 year old, a 3 year old and a 11/2 year old who I am paranoid… and I mean P.A.R.A.N.O.I.D., will accidentally knock over my bathroom trash, or see something else they think they want and start digging through my trash, and find my little gems, my precious little mice. I know I’ll have to discuss this issue with them eventually. I just don’t want it to have to happen while sitting on my bathroom floor, picking up the used objects of our discussion. And I don’t want them to be MINE.
Needless to say, I take my trash out daily for one week every month.
I want to know, if this is a common problem, why haven’t the other women that this has happened to told us?? Or at least me??? Was it just me who didn’t know??
I think this is a topic I want to hear from Martha Stewart on. What exactly does she think is the proper and most efficient way of handling our tampons? After all, they are a Good Thing.
p.s. do you think this can be a Works For Me Wednesday post?? **snicker/snort** You know, how to keep your pipes from not backing up?