The traveling plunger.

Bubba and I, we clog toilets.

Sorry, but it's true.  This delicate little beautiful flower you know as Stacie's Madness, clogs toilets.

When I poop, I poop big. 

Go big or go home.

Here at work we have ONE plunger for two bathrooms.

I make it a point to walk to the bathroom that is farther away from my office strictly because it usually houses the one lonely plunger.

I went to that bathroom today, stomach churning.  I unbutton my pants, sit down and look in the corner for my unclogging toilet friend.

It's not there.  It's too late, I've sat and committed to doing my business.  Good thing for this toilet that today's doody was manageable.

While we were in the hotel this weekend Bubba followed his norm by clogging the toilet.  That boy shits like a grown man.

In the past, when this has happened, I have gone down to the front desk and embarrassingly ask for a plunger.  Usually they hand me a plastic wrapped unclogger.  My blushing cheeks are only reddened for a minimal amount of time. 

I trek down to the front desk; a young man asked if he could help me.

"Yes, please.  I need a plunger." 

Clearly caught off guard he fumbles into an office awkwardly sputtering about a spare plunger.  Another worker noticed his flustered state and asked if she could help.

Awesome.  Anyone else?  Anyone else want in on the plunging fun?

Apparently.

She came over to me and said that they didn't have any plungers behind the counter for guests to use.  She then pushes the button on her walkie talkie.

"HI, Yes, we need someone to go up with a plunger to room 204."

The voice on the other end clarifies (full volume) "You need a PLUNGER in ROOM 204?"

"Yes." She responds then looks over at me.  "He'll be right up."

Awesome.

I walked back up to the room and waited for the final rush of mortification. (Is that a word?)

There's a knock on the door.  It's the hotel maintenance man, he's carrying a plunger with a handle on it that practically touched the ceiling.

Bubba looks at me in that "what the hell" kind of way.

I just shrugged and moved out of the way.

*Plunge, plunge, swoosh, swoosh, walkie talkie call asking for his help to jump a car, flush*

"There you go."  He said as he exited the room.

Sigh of relief, cause now I have to go.  You know, number 2.

So I did.  A nice one.  It wouldn't flush.

We used our friend's bathroom for the rest of the trip. 

What?  There was no way in hell was I going to call for the Plunger Man a second time.

You're welcome.

I think from now on we should pack a traveling plunger in our bags.  Do you think security would have an issue with that?