Into Every Life a Little Poo Must Fall

I think that one of the major sources of unhappiness among women of my demographic (age, race, education level, etc.) is having unrealistic expectations. We want everything to go so well. We plan, we maneuver, we pray, we do all in our power to create meaningful experiences. And then life happens. I have a firm policy of NOT expecting perfection for exactly this reason. Kids get cranky, stuff gets broken, mud gets tracked in, people get sick. We just have to do the best we can, and appreciate the opportunity we have to be with people we love.
With that in mind, I have to quickly share a story with you, since my blog lately has been so sappy-sweet. I love the phase of my life that I'm in right now. I've made no secret about that. It's been too sweet, really. Too perfect. There have been so few hitches in the plan that I've been secretly waiting for the other shoe to drop for some time now. I've been holding my breath.
So when we moved in and discovered that the only toilet on the main floor of the house was hopelessly clogged, I let out a sigh of relief. I'm used to bad things happening to me. Poo I can deal with. Even if the clog is so bad that plunging doesn't work. Even if the clog is so bad that it's backed up the sewage line to the bathroom and the sink is now draining into the toilet. Even if it's so bad that scooping the toilet water out with a disposable cup and dumping it elsewhere is required. Even if the odor coming from said toilet smells like a combination of low tide and fertilizer, and happens to be seeping out from under the door into your kitchen just a little bit.
They sell home warranties for a reason, right?
Yes. I can poo I can handle. Surprisingly well, it turns out. After all, nothing is EVER perfect, and if I have to deal with a disgusting mess, I'm glad it's one that I have some experience with already.