This is for all of you who read my mom’s blog and subsequently followed the link to my blog and are now eagerly awaiting the story of Lizzie Wenger’s bathroom.
(And just in case you happen to hold up the Smucker family as being the root of all things holy and wonderful, you should know that we have such a communication problem that I had no clue that Mom wanted me to write this until I read her blog post.)
This Christmas my family went back east. We stayed at my Aunt Margaret’s house for a few days, and Aunt Margaret took us to this weird thrift store/giant garage sale.
Basically, this woman named Lizzie Wenger collects STUFF and sells it out of her barn and other barn and backyard shack and backyard. It was freezing cold, and everything was priced at Goodwill prices instead of garage sale prices, so I don’t really know how she got any business.
I had to use the bathroom. So, when we went into the house to pay for our stuff, I asked Lizzie if I could use her bathroom.
“Yes,” she said. Then she yelled to her husband in the kitchen, “Mahlon! Show her where the bathroom is!”
Mahlon “showed” me where the bathroom was by pointing and saying, “See that door there? Not that one, the other one. Go through it and then mumble mumble second door.”
He was pointing to two doors, so I went through the second one, expecting to see the bathroom.
Not so. I ended up in a random room which had three doors leading off of it.
Logically, I opened the second door. It led to a bedroom. I opened the first door. It led to a tiny room with a crib, a dresser, and a closet. So I opened the third door and saw a staircase.
“Maybe the staircase door is the first door, and at the top of the stairs is the second door, behind which is the bathroom,” I thought. Very logical, I’m sure. But I went up the staircase and opened every door at the top and none of them led to the bathroom.
The floors creaked terribly, and I was sure that Lizzie and Mahlon thought I was sneaking around, stealing their plastic dolls and woven kleenex-box covers. I crept back down the stairs. “Maybe the bathroom is in the closet of the tiny room with the crib,” I thought. Even more logical.
Well what do you know, I went into the little room and moved the curtain aside and there was the bathroom.
I used the bathroom. The toilet was one of those ones with a cushioned seat, with cracks in the vinyl just waiting to pinch your posterior. I tried to remedy the situation by placing toilet paper on the seat.
The toilet paper had cartoon characters on it.
This is the closest thing I could find to what it looked like.
So I did my business and flushed, but one flush didn’t take care of everything. So I waited and waited for the tank to fill up, so I could flush again. It didn’t fill up.
I took the lid off the tank, reached in, and pushed the stopper back into place so the tank would fill. My fingers came out covered in black sludge.
However, the light at the end of the tunnel was the fact that the sink came equipped with hot hot water and lots of good soap.