Riley just flushed a plastic piggy down our only toilet. I never let the kids have toys in the bathroom. It's a rule. But we had just gotten home from a really fun dinner out, Riley asked if he could take his piggy into the bathroom to watch me flush (one of his favorite things in the world to watch, oddly enough), I figured "What the heck?", and it slipped out of his hand and into the bowl just as I pushed down the handle.
Poor Riley was horrified. "My piggy! MY PIGGY!" he wailed.
I was horrified. "Our only toilet! How much is this going to cost me?!" I wailed. On the inside, of course.
Plumber has been called. I await the callback. In the meantime, I'm waiting to start the endless loads of laundry that await my attention, I'm refraining from doing dishes, and I'm hoping I don't need to pee.
Of course this had to happen on a Friday night, so there's no way to wait until Monday—and non-emergency plumbing rates—to deal with it.
Just when I thought this week was over.
I'm now going to go do three hours' worth of math proofreading. With my legs tightly crossed.
[EDITED: My friend Jen came over with a plunger, which didn't help out at all. But! She also came with the phone number of a friend who is married to a plumber. I'm very poor at asking for help, and I hate making phone calls, especially to people I don't know very well, but desperate times call for desperate measures, so I got over myself and dialed. Paul the Plumber was very helpful, and walked Jen and I through a few tests that determined that piggy is on his way to the waste water treatment facility. So now laundry is swishing away, dishes can be washed, and I'm going to get to my proofreading. As soon as I pee.]