Farmer H and the #1 son spent several hours removing a toilet today.
Actually, the toilet removal took less than five minutes. It was everything else that took hours. They have been replacing the diamond-patterned, blue-and-white linoleum floor of the boys' bathroom with a replica of a hockey arena. No ice, of course. But a shiny piece of wood with all the requisite markings and stripes. They did the half under the sink a couple weeks ago, and today was the toilet half's turn.
I suggested to Farmer H that he might as well just replace the toilet. Not that we're made of money, and tear out toilets every time we use one. We're not exactly the artist formerly known as Prince. And it's not that our sons' waste material is strong enough to plug a leak in the Hoover Dam. We've had that toilet for fifteen years. I think we can fancy up the place with a new one during the makeover.
The #1 son remained behind (heh, heh, I said behind in a post about toilets) while Farmer H took off to Lowe's for the replacement. I chose not to hang around with bated breath waiting on the arrival of the new pooper. So the incoming throne was installed without my supervision.
While I was cooking supper, Farmer H started a conversation with me from the living room. He loves to do that. It's like a hobby with him. He especially cherishes these talks when I am trying to hear the lying meteorologists, or when I have the exhaust fan running on the stove.
"How do you like the new toilet?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen it."
"I asked for the best toilet they had." (I envisioned Al Bundy and his Ferguson. The King of Toilets). "It's an old people's toilet. Kind of high."
"Great. The boys have an old people's toilet."
"I kind of like it. You will, too."
With that introduction, I had to go check it out. It's only an inch or two taller than our other toilets. No support bars on it. No lifty thingy that pushes you back to standing position.
I'm hoping there's not a walk-in tub in the boys' future.