I'm forever blowing bubbles . . .

As I perched this morning, as I do every morning, upon the golden throne, I knew the second I gave the handle a downward thrust that all was not right with the world. "For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction" . . . I get that . . . but apparently no one had ever told my toilet that. Mt. Vesuvius had nothing on the inner workings of my second story sewer system. With Frank incapacitated, I did the only thing I knew to do. I screwed off the water valve and called a plumber. Poor man, he comes here too often. We knew each other's names. Heck, I know his cat's names. He is brilliant. He fixed the mountain and did some reconstructing of bowels in the only other toilet yet to have regurgitated its contents. Hooray. I live to flush another day.

You'd think that would be enough excitement for the day. Nay, I say, when you are a dork, there is always room for more. Sitting atop the throne, was stored a beautiful decorative jar of bath salts, given to me by an old friend especially to complement the bathroom decor. It is a rather squatty hand blown glass affair with a wide mouth cork plopped in its mouth. I am very fond of it. I am also a curious soul. I carefully lifted the lid of the throne to view the new "guts". I was doing well until said jar decided to dive head first into the tank. Without trepidation, my hand followed to retrieve my object d'art. Alas it came forth with the container but neither lid nor contents. So there I stood with a toilet tank full of bath salts and an uncontrollable urge to flush . . . yep, I got bubbles. Pale iridescent blue and green bubbles dancing around in circles heading for greener pastures. Somewhere, in the local reclamation plant, there is some poor soul scratching his head in utter amazement. I didn't mean it sir, I really didn't.