At 6pm, a man is coming to fix our toilet. It rocks.
I mean, the TOILET rocks. Y'know, wobbles when you're trying to aim your poop into the bowl. Very distracting when I am attempting to browse the the August issue of Lou Lou Magazine, even though I have the damn thing memorized by now (I've had a lot of poops since August).
A man is coming to fix the crapper. If he has the stereotypical "plumber's butt", I will try to take a photo for you. But no promises.
Also, if you do not feel fulfilled by this post, you are not human.