KBTV

KBTV::Jog Bra or Feminine By-product?

As I explained yesterday, I live in a brand new townhouse that is smugly and snuggly equipped with state-of-the-art “low-flush” toilets. All of this hype is because I live in Florida, and we always seem to be hovering on the brink of some disastrous draught that is always expected to be worse than anything the weathermen have ever seen before.

I was told upfront, full disclosure, that no feminine by-products were to be flushed down the toilet … EVER. “You live in Florida now, girl,” said Ernie that NBA-star turned 4-Star Plumber (so he said). “You can’t flush it even if it says so on the outside of the box.”

Today my toilet is stopped up and it’s an emergency. Remember, “my friend” is coming in to town. I call 4-Star Plumbing – seeking the aide of my big pal Ernie.

“It’s an emergency,” I explain to Denise, his dispatcher, who has now become a friend and confidant.

“Ms. Bohner, I’ll send Ernie out there right now,” Denise seems exasperated and judgmental. “But it’s going to cost you double-time.” (As I explained in yesterday’s blog, I had to get this done because “my friend”/boyfriend was coming in to town to stay for 28 hours. Presumably, he would have to use the loo at least once during his tenure in the townhouse.)

Ding Dong!

Ah, Ernie! Whew. I don’t have to be at the airport for two hours. Terrific! Everything is going to work out just fine. I clunk down the stairs in my brand new olive green suede Ugg clogs. Clunk. Clunk.

“Hi Ernie!” I open the door and look straight up at the sky. Ernie beams down at me. He looks like the Seagram’s Building in Midtown Manhattan – a giant, black, plate glass skyscraper – but with a big inviting smile and bright white teeth.

“Girl, you’ve got to get your act together,” he says shaking his head, then hunching down and bowing his head – ducking, really – to enter the Townhouse. He walks right past me up the stairs and into the back, through the master bedroom and into the bath. I go back to my computer and keep tapping away.

Ten minutes later, Ernie emerges. “Ms. Bohner, I can definitely tell you that was no feminine product,” he says looking puzzled – not grossed out – perplexed. “It’s in the can.” He carefully places his tool box on the floor.

My curiosity is piqued by the expression on his face. I pop up from my computer and scoot straight back into the loo. There, in my Nicole Miller ceramic tile mauve-crème trash can lies a soiled … … not-white-anymore jog bra.

I look at Ernie, my jaw dropping. I’m speechless.

Finally Ernie musters up the courage to speak. “Ms. Bohner what chu been doin’ back here?”

And that IS a wrap!

To be continued …

posted by rjoyner @ 10:32 PM