“Mom,” he gasped, pacing the bathroom as the water began to form a small, glistening lake around his bare feet. “The upstairs toilet is clogged. It’s… it’s winning.”
Downstairs, Mrs. Gable texted again. “It’s dripping faster now. It’s gone from ‘drip’ to ‘plink-plonk.’” upstairs toilet clogged
His mother, who lived three hundred miles away in a ranch house where the only thing that ever clogged was the garbage disposal (and that was always a fork), sighed a sigh of profound, hereditary disappointment. “Did you use the plunger?” “Mom,” he gasped, pacing the bathroom as the