Best Buy

So I’m standing there in Best Buy eyeing the iPads and my thigh is all wet. The salesman, a kid, is telling me the cheapest iPad I can buy is the one on the end, for $329.

Meanwhile I’m wondering why my thigh is wet and seems to getting wetter and wetter. Did I cut myself? Did my trustworthy, but 56-year-old bladder spring a leak?

I look at the kid and tell him I don’t want to spend $329 to watch YouTube. He shrugs and walks away. I look down at my thigh. My right thigh.

The toilet is to blame, of course. The toilet!

I bought my wife a toilet for Christmas. Now before you look at me all cross-eyed, it’s something she asked for (I got her other stuff, too, but the toilet was one of the gifts).

“I want a tall toilet,” she said.

We have a friend who is in a wheelchair who visits once a week and apparently tall toilets are easier to get on and off of, which makes perfect sense.

So I bought her a tall toilet, at least I thought it was tall enough. It said “chair height” on the box. So I lugged it home, hid it at the office for weeks and on Christmas Day the boy and I dragged it into the house.

“It’s the same height as the ones we already have,” my wife said. “I want a taller one.”

So I jumped online, found an even taller one and proceeded to take the other one back.

But just before I left I checked on my chickens and one laid an egg, (they haven’t been laying much and when they do, if you don’t check them during the day, a skunk has been eating them at night) so I stuck the egg in my coat pocket.

Then promptly forgot about.

The egg survived unloading the old toilet and dragging it back into the store.

But the egg did not survive loading up the new, 19-inch toilet (which cost $50 more than the shorter one, by the way, for a grand total of $250).

I didn’t notice the egg had crushed to smithereens until I got into Best Buy, when the yolk, by then, was dripping out of the little drain holes from by fancy British waxed cotton coat.

There was no real place to try to clean up, so I just lived with the dripping coat and soggy thigh until I got home.

The wife put in the new toilet all by herself. Even added a Bidet my daughter bought her the year before. (I did offer to help, but I suspect, but cannot prove, she figured the swearing that comes with my ‘help’ wasn’t worth the hassle.)

So I washed the coat out in the sink. Made the mistake of using hot water, which cooked the egg and made it all the harder to get out of the pocket. Such are the joys of chickens.