I’m nervous about meeting my girl-friend’s Grandmother. She’ll cancel me if I don’t make the right impression. So I get a haircut and pack a nice-looking suit-jacket. But the night before I’m over-served, and try to cure my hangover the next morning with a fatty English breakfast.
By the time we get to Grandma’s house I need to find a restroom. I smile through the greetings then slip upstairs. When I try to flush, the water doesn’t go down. Then, as I watch in horror, it starts to rise. I look around, white carpet. Who has carpet in their bathroom? Grandma does. And the foul liquid keeps rising. Panicked, I pull off the back of the toilet and stop the water just in time.
I call to my girlfriend, who laughs. Beads of sweat form on my forehead. Grandma appears and says, “no worries, this happens all the time.” Then she walks over to the toilet and sinks her whole arm down into my mess. Everything seems to slow down as her arm digs deeper, past the elbow. She leans into it, her forearm working, until a smile begins to flicker across her face.