The Toilet Incident

I wake up in the middle of the night a lot and Husband very rarely does.

On one such occasion I woke up to go to the bathroom. As I’ve said, our house is a very old house.
The toilet used to be an outhouse, but is now encased within the main part of the house. To get there, you need to walk out of our bedroom, past the spare room, past the lounge room, past the bathroom proper, through the kitchen, past the laundry and then into the toilet. It is a long, arduous and dark journey. Frequently on the way back, I have to stop in the kitchen for supplies of soda water or Waterfords Portello.

This night I had noticed Husband sleeping all wrapped up in the sheet as he normally does, and gotten up to start the trek to the toilet.

I was so tired. There was drool dried to the side of my face and one of my eyes was stuck together.

I noticed that the toilet light had been left on. Husband has a habit of doing this. He always leaves lights on. He will turn on every light in the house and leave it that way. He will turn on the heater in a room that no one is in and leave it on for 5 hours to “pre-heat”. So, nothing was too unusual about the light being on so I flipped it off and didn’t think much of anything else about it. Then, I got closer to the door.

It seemed as though someone was in there. But that couldn’t be possible. Husband was sleeping in bed. I had seen him all tucked up in the sheet! While I was standing there staring at the door, I picked up small boy dog. Small girl dog didn’t exist then. I don’t know what help I thought a 6 month old pug puppy with a nervous disposition would be, but there you go. I looked at the small boy dog and went to put my hand on the door knob when I heard the toilet flush.

Going through my head was something to this effect: OhholyChristthetoiletjustflushed. It’s ok. Calm down. It was probably just automatic. Probably just a plumbing thing. Probably just did it by itself. It’s fine.

As I’m thinking this I’m squeezing small boy dog very tightly, like a shedding, wheezing, useless security blanket with eye snot.

Then I noticed I was kind of hiding behind a very small dog. Ok, not kind of... I was definitely hiding behind a very small dog. After deciding to be a motherfucking adult about the situation, I grabbed the handle of the door and held it closed so no one could get out, for there was decidedly someone in there.

I gave myself a pep talk.

“Man up!” I said inside my head. “Just open the door! Open the door! What are you? Scared? What’s the worst that could happen? OPEN THE DOOR! There’s nothing for it! You’ll just have to open the door.”

So I opened the door, just a little...

OH HOLY FUCKING JESUS CHRIST THERE IS SOMEONE IN THERE. WHY IS THERE SOMEONE IN THERE? WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?

Then I looked properly... It was Husband. He was confused as to why I had turned the light off on him and appeared to be wielding a small tired dog.

Turns out that the bundle in bed that I thought was Husband, was just the sheet rolled up in a distinctly Husband type shape and I had absolutely shat myself worried for nothing.
Upon commencing the trek back to bed with Husband, he asked me why I hadn’t thought to wake him up to tell him a maniac murderer or burglar of some description had broken in and was weeing in our toilet. He also pondered on the fact that I hadn’t walked the 3 feet back into the kitchen to get a very large, very sharp knife to wave at the urinating intruder.
What can I say? This was the closest thing I had at the time... Tell me you wouldn’t be scared.