Men in the household are good for putting up shelves and starting barbecues. However, they also have a habit of abusing toilet facilities.
As with today’s despairing woman, you need to tackle this issue head on and ensure the human male is aware of his bowel foibles.
How to Stop Clogging Toilets
Disclaimer: Please refrain from eating anything whilst reading today’s column.
Dear Agony Aunt. My husband, Peter, is 40 and we've been married for 21 years. But I'm starting to lose my patience with him. Not only is he balding pretty rapidly, overweight, and crass, he's started clogging the toilet CONSTANTLY! Which I blame on his regular diet of pop tarts, pies, beef wellington, fish and chips, sausage barnies, pasties, toasties, sweets, and full English breakfasts. All of that is leading to several weekly clogged toilet incidents that are really putting a strain on our marriage. The worst was on Friday when I went to use the toilet and it was all in there, backed up with toilet paper, with my husband having abandoned it for me to do. I tried to flush and, holy hell, up the water went and flooded the bathroom! I shrieked in horror and Peter ran in and yelled, "Holy shit, you're only a small woman how did you manage to do this!?" We have two young daughters, Susan and Susie, and they rushed in to see what the commotion was. Susan shrieked, "Mummy, why would you do this?! That's disgusting!" And Susie started crying (and not tears of happiness, either). I tried to explain my innocence but Peter barked, "There's no time for your lies, woman, let's get out of here!" And we rushed outside and had to call for a plumber and fumigation service. That night, after booking a hotel while our house was "fixed", we had dinner and they all sat there glowering at me. "We'll discuss this later!" said Peter. By that point I'd had enough and was calling Peter out on it, but the girls sided with HIM! "Mummy, it's not nice to lie!" Susan said over and over. In frustration I yelled, "I'm NOT lying about clogging the toilet, you little bastard!" All the other hotel diners heard it of course. A good hundred of them or so. That caused an awkward silence, broken up by a few people retching and leaving the room to throw up. Well, the maître d'hôtel came over to me and demanded I leave not only the restaurant, but the hotel! Again, I protested my innocence but he just went, "Tête de noeud!" I speak a smattering of French and tried to reason with him, but he just muttered, "Tu parles Français comme une vache espagnole." I should imagine he was after a tip, so I waved him away in contempt. But I was then escorted from the hotel. I had to spend the night in a cheap youth hostel with inferior poor people. It was gross. This, I fear, is my future if my husband can't get control of his bowels. What should I do!? Yours, Sandra
Hi, Sandra. Your husband’s issues are born out of a desire to usurp your clearly domineering personality.
You’ve got to remember, we read a book on psychoanalysis once. We’re goddamn experts.
It’s clear to us. The overeating of your husband is a desperate attempt to shift the power struggle in the relationship, forcing you to take ownership of his monstrosities. He’s even turned the kids against you, such is the skill of his toiletry deposits.
You’re dealing with one highly intelligent individual here, Sandra, you need to make your next move carefully. Your bathroom depends on it.
Saving Your Bathroom From Male Destruction
Whilst it’s tempting to pack your bags and flee now he has the upper hand, we recommend you tough this one out.
If things get out of control, you can always kick him in the testicles.
Your best bet is to just leave the situation the next time he causes a mess—take a holiday to Skegness so you have an alibi. After several days of flies, rats, and insects accumulating in your bathroom, he has no excuses.
Your daughters will realise he’s one lying SOB and call him a “poopy pants” and at school draw mean pictures of him and his toiletry incompetence.
This will shame him and put you back in control. Come down on the bastard like a tonne of bricks. Mock him mercilessly. Question his manhood. Laugh at him whilst he cries.
Congratulations, you’ve regained your position as the poisonous bitch of the family. Let your reign rumble on, odour-free, for many years to come, Sandra.