My Husband Broke His Toilet

Among my keys to a happy and long lasting marriage is the rule of separate personal spaces. The Lord & Master, whose domain is our basement (don’t worry, it’s finished and all), created his dream bathroom, dripping with marble walls, Murano glass floor tiles and black toilet and sink. Do you have any idea how ugly a black sink looks with toothpaste drippings and soap scum all over it? Well, Mister Hot Stuff made all his flights of fancy come true, so more power to him.

As I write, our plumber has strapped on knee pads to reconnect said black commode to the floor. Apparently, the Lord & Master’s heft has stripped the original bolts. In other words, he’s so fat he broke his crapper. By sitting on it.

And still, he refuses to consider joining me at Weight Watchers or even strolling around the block. As Dorothy Parker noted, you can lead a whore to culture, but you can’t make her think.


3 responses to “My Husband Broke His Toilet

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