Toilets seem to have something against me. It's an unfounded bias, mind you ��I've never done anything out of the ordinary to a toilet in my life, save that one time when I was maybe six and, although I hadn't even used the toilet, wanted to tear off a perfect square of toilet paper, you know, right along the perforation. I didn't get it on the first try, so I threw the jagged piece into the toilet. Not on the second try, either. Repeat several dozen times, until my father walks in and asks what I'm doing, sees nothing but clean toilet paper in the bowl, and shoos me out and hoping the toilet will be able to handle all the paper I've peppered it with.

But I've never abused the toilets I've known, never thrown anything down them that shouldn't be there, never even really abused them in, ahem, normal use. But there was that one time senior year, when Bryan and I had just moved into our apartment, and the toilet in the hall bathroom (Bryan's bedroom had an attached bathroom as well) started backing up for no discernable reason and nearly overflowed. We had quite an adventure with that one, plunging the heck out of it, seeing no results, and going back at it intermittently over two days until, finally, it cleared up and we cheered. It was the first real foray into Do It Yourself Home Repair for either of us after years of calling for Dad when such problems arose and living in dorms.

Then there was the time I was visiting Heather in Austin when � and I'm a little hazy on the details, perhaps she'll be able to fill in the blanks ��her toilet, which hadn't been the perfect model of a modern commode, would no longer flush. You'd push down on the handle, and nothing. That was because the handle had broken off of the stopper inside the tank. So to flush it, you had to reach down into the tank, pull up the stopper until the tank drained, then replace it. We did that only a couple of times, until I (I think I did it; maybe Heather or Brad did) rigged a hanger to the stopper, so that to flush the toilet, you simply had to pull up the hanger sticking out of the top of the tank. Now that's being handy.

So two weeks ago, after Casey and I returned from a night at my parents', our toilet started backing up. On a Sunday night, it just didn't seem right. On Monday night, Casey came home from work to find our Christmas tree had toppled over. It was a late night in the office for me, so I went home for an hour to help put the tree back up, and while I was there, the toilet inexplicably backed up. There had recently been a problem with the pipes in the house, so we suspected a connection. The landlord happened to be there at the moment, so I asked him to come up. He spent 20 minutes with our cheap-ass Fisher-Price plunger (which I replaced the next day with a fancy Bed Bath-n-BEYOND! model with it's own egg to live in) and managed to get it clear, after asking us if we'd accidentally dropped anything down there, "Like a small ball?" I almost cracked up in front of him. A small ball? What the hell kind of small ball sinks???

Anyway, he fixed it, and we didn't seem to have any trouble since then. Until last night. I came home from a night down in Little Silver just as Casey returned from her night in the City with Kerry. The toilet was used with no problems, but then became testy again. Backing up. We plunged. And plunged and plunged and plunged and plunged and plunged and plunged. And plunged. I'd plunge for a bit, then take a break to let the water slowly recede. Of course, by 9 p.m., we needed to pee. So we decided to do some late-night shopping at Whole Foods ��and use their restrooms.

When we came back from late-night food shopping ("There's something peaceful about shopping late at night," Casey said. "There's something peaceful about shopping late at night with Christmas music," I amended later, inside the store. "Are you mocking me!" she asked.) there was a new problem. The water hadn't receded this time. So we plunged some more while going about other tasks of finishing Christmas presenting, reading, watching TV, playing Tecmo Super Bowl.

After brushing her teeth, Casey looked at the toilet. "Um, is it getting higher?" she asked. But it seemed rhetorical, and I made note of it but didn't respond. A little while later, after brushing my teeth before bed, I opened the lid. It wasn't a question. It was higher. Less than an inch from overflowing. So I took a plastic cup (the water was clean, thank God) and emptied the bowl. And hoped it was a fluke.

Stupidly, I didn't think to turn off the water. I went to sleep. I woke up at 6:53 and, suddenly remembering the Toilet Adventures of the night before, laid in bed wide awake hoping that it hadn't overflowed.

At 7:15, after the alarm went off, Casey retreats from the bathroom to announce, "Our bathroom's flooded."

We cleaned up the mess, emptied the bowl (again), showered and ate breakfast (all without going to the bathroom, mind you, so that added unnecessary pressure). I called the landlord. Casey left early for work. The landlord was very understanding and came over to show me how to turn off the water, which he could've just explained over the phone was the knob behind the bottom of the bowl. Or I could've figured it out myself. But I've had enough to worry about lately. Then he got on the phone and called the company that had been over two weeks ago to jet-clean the pipes. At first the guy who answered the phone said it wasn't related. Gilbert, in a more serious tone, said, "Excuse me, but how can you have that opinion?" So the owner of the company is coming over later today.

Meanwhile, Casey and I have to use every opportunity to use the restrooms at work, in the event this situation isn't fixed today. I also explained to Gilbert that we'll be away tomorrow and Wednesday, and on Thursday, Casey's family is coming. I'm sure he doesn't want her dad calling him up and threatening to sue his wife again.

I just want everything in the house to work.

Then, I left early for work as well, and remembered I'd wanted to pick up some film for Jess at Target.

They have restrooms.