I danced into my door two days ago, my poor bladder a victim of a new commute and unexpected traffic.
I sat down to...ya know...do my business. Then I stretched my arm behind me to retrieve a couple squares.
ZZzzzZBTbtzzzZZZZZBTBAZZAzattt
Gaaahhh!!! I got shocked with my pants down! And not in a good way. Most definitely not in a good way.
What the fuck TP dispenser?! What did I ever do to you? Fucking ouch! It felt like I had inserted my finger into a live electrical socket (and yes, I have done that before). At the most vulnerable of places, I was caught with some now-frizzy hair and an intense fear of an inanimate object with which I now needed to coexist peacefully and interact with on a quite regular basis.
I tentatively tapped the dispenser again, because I'm a daredevil like that.
Nothing. Untrusting fingertips met cool metal.
Tap.
Nothing.
Taptap.
Nothingnothing.
So I went about my day. Convinced myself that it was nothing. Perchance it was a bit of static electricity or a fluke brought about by a smidge too much road rage. I was solid in my convictions until my boyfriend called me at work the next day.
Chris: "Whatever you do, do NOT touch the dispenser in the bathroom."
Me: "Oh! Yeah! Did I tell you it bit me last night?"
Chris: "What are you rambling about woman? There are 500 volts of electricity running through that shit and if you touch it while standing in water you. will. die."
Me: "AHHHHH!"
Can you imagine if Chris had come home and found me lying unconscious, pale as a ghost, drool pooled on the tile below the porcelain throne? What the hell would have gone through his mind?! Probably something along the lines of "Oh, shit, I guess she was a cocaine fiend all along" or "Was she eating a peanut butter sandwich?".
We had contractors in the house sheet rocking our ceiling and for some reason I have yet to ascertain they hooked up a shock-detecto-meter (I think that's the technical term) to the little, seemingly innocuous TP dispenser. They must've been in for a surprise when the needle frantically jumped like a shellacked Kardashian to the papparazzo. Apparently the dumbass who had installed the thing had ratcheted in a metal screw directly into a highly charged electrical wire. How this mystery person did not shock himself into oblivion is beyond my scope of comprehension.
Chris took some of our leftover bubble wrap and cushioned the offending bathroom appliance from stupid hands and the ever curious Wall-dog nose. Today, an electrican came, and COULDN'T FIND WHERE THE WIRE GOES TO!!!
Ah, new house. Methinks you are going to be a troublemaker.
Extra Bathroom Mishap Bonus!!!
My lovely cousin just moved into a renovated house in which the brilliant plumber hooked up the hot water to her guest toilet. This resulted in a toilet bowl full of a roiling, boiling, steamy mess. I'd like to think that the plumber was not so much a bloody moron as he was an avid fan of pasta.
