It was turning out to be an absolutely horrific day off. I needed to clean the house and didn't want to spend all day doing it. The morning went down the toilet in a hurry. Literally. It was the bathroom that nearly killed me. OK, I exaggerate, maybe it wouldn't kill me, but the disaster had the capability of embarrassing me through the entire county; two towns and a city at the very least. There was only one person I could call for help. The one person who could possibly die laughing ( she had already had one heart attack by now), but who could tell me what to do in a panic. My mother.
"In the flesh."
"I need help."
"Of course you do, but why are you calling?"
"Mom, this is no time to mess around, ''my toilet is on fire."
"I'm sorry, I must have heard you incorrectly, what I heard was, "My toilet is on fire."
"NO, YOU HEARD ME CORRECTLY. MY TOILET IS SPEWING BLUE FLAMES AND I CANNOT CALL THE FIRE DEPARTMENT. I will be laughed out of work, now please help me."
"It's not like you to panic, how did this happen?"
"I was cleaning the bathroom last, ran out of cleaner, figured any chemical is good chemical so I grabbed the ammonia, and dumped it in the bowl, only I grabbed the wrong bottle and it was rubbing alcohol that I dumped in."
"Um, yuh, well, rubbing alcohol and water do not spontaneously combust."
"I know that."
"Well I didn't mean to insult your intelligence; how did the fire start and is it still burning?
"Yes. I forgot about the alcohol. Went to make the bed. When I went back into the bathroom to light a candle, I always light a candle after I clean, and I threw the match into the toilet, and POOF!"
"Oh you are a genius. Thank You."
"No problem, I have to call your sister and tell her."
And soooo... even if flushing won't solve the problem, call your mother, she will!