Interesting conclusion to therapy last night. I asked to use the bathroom before I left, and while there, sort of like in the David Sedaris short story Big Boy, I clogged the toilet. (I know, How Freudian!) There were a few toilet brushes that I tried to plunge it out with, but to no avail. So I cleaned up and stuck my head out and said, "Helen, I've stopped your toilet up. Do you have a plunger?"
Helen looked up from her gardening catalogs. "No, I don't. You need to get it from the doorman downstairs."
So I did. I went down and asked to borrow the plunger. I got the plunger, took it upstairs, and had it flushing in no time. I returned the plunger on my way out.

Now, I wonder if her other clients would unstop her toilet, or would they just leave it and pretend not to notice? (I mean, it wasn't filled to overflowing or anything, just going down really really slowly.) Am I "special" in her eyes?

Pretty pathetic, right?

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