We must’ve accidentally let something live go down there. A drain monster with the instincts of a beaver is building a dam to make the experience more tolerable.
He could have taken the water slide experience as an adventure and rode it all the way to the end. But no, maybe he had already taken the trip down to my septic tank and decided that it was not a place he’d like to visit again.
If he had set up his household there, he could not very well invite guests. It was kind of yucky.
So this time, on the way down the waterslide to hell, he must’ve decided to get a foothold on a piece of peanut butter stuck to the side of our pipes. To make his position less precarious, our drain beaver collected stuff for his new home from the deluge of flotsam that continuously flows down our drain.
“A carrot peel, here; elbow macaroni, there, and. voila!... Wait. What’s that? Will you look at that? A twist tie! That will really tie in the whole décor!”
“I need some spackling for the walls to seal the drafts. How’s a drain beaver expected to do quality work without the proper materials?”
“I smell spaghetti! That means meat fat, noodles and, holy cow, hamburger! With that I’ll be able to perfect my Art Sicko motif. Ah, Home Sweet Home!”
“Honey, the drain’s backing up again.”
“I just cleared that drain two months ago!”
“I know, but it’s clogged again.”
“What have you been putting down there?”
A withering glare and then, “Barbie heads and double A batteries, of course. What do you think?”
“Well, the bathroom drain had half a Hot Wheels car in it last week... the top half.”
(If anyone is wondering what the formula for half a Hot Wheels is; it’s one mail truck running over a Hot Wheels car – twice. That would be mt/hw2, I believe.)
“Yes, and I’m probably the one who decided it belonged in the drain. In fact, I give the children daily lessons on how to effectively clog the drains so that you’ll have something to do on the weekends.”
“Okay, I get it! It wasn’t your fault.”
One hour later. “Honey, I’ve taken the trap off and there is no clog here.”
“So you’re saying it was my imagination that was backing up last night’s dinner into the sink?”
“No,” he’s annoyed now, “But there is no clog in this section. It must be further along. Let’s try some drain cleaner.”
Our tenacious drain beaver must’ve received the eviction notice because the waterslide is now sluicing my flotsam at maximum capacity. I hope his relocation works out for him this time. I know it has for me.