I just experienced the single most disgusting thing in my life. Look… I have changed diapers that looked like a chernobyl level meltdown, but this moment of DIY dystopia wins first prize in the competition nobody wants to participate in.
My wife’s bathroom sink.
It all started when my sink had a slow drip that was seemingly unfixable due to a litany of reasons that don’t matter here. So, we bought two new fixtures (obviously the his her setup has to match).
I replaced my faucet and cleaned out the p-trap. It was pretty gross, as you’d expect. Let me tell you, though, that the level grossness in my sink did not qualify as a trial run for the horror I would shortly face just 5 feet away.
I’m convinced that a woman’s sink is where dreams go to die, decompose, and lure in the fallen souls of all the cockroached that have perished on your property.
Anyway, since I had just gotten done with my side, I was zooming through her side pretty quickly. It took me maybe 5 minutes to get the prior faucet off and the new one hooked up. Noe it was time for the stopper.
“Stopper”… What an apt name. Sure, it stops the water from escaping the sink bowl, but do you know what else it stops? Every long strand of hair that ever even had a hope of making it to the septic tank; and as those hairs reunite with each other over the years in the aquatic hellscape, they invite every last bit of not-even-The-Creator-knows to cling on in a unified sorrow.
When you mix this devil’s debris with time, the product is something that no man wishes existed on the same dimensional plane as his children. I can only describe this concoction as a pony tail dipped in critter cheese that is sneezed on by a Gamorrean after it ate a pistachio brownie sundae that was then left to marinate in a pool of a dentist’s office daily refuse.
The viscous liquid that oozed from the pipe as I begrudgingly wrenched off the lock nut seemed like it was on the verge of sentience. I likely saved the world by ending its misery before it could reach the next stage of evolution.
Once everything was disconnected, I pulled out the main mass of muck much like a yeoman draws his final arrow from his quiver as he defends his land from those that would encroach upon his peaceful life. I thought to send a picture of the sludge that emptied into the bucket, but I feared it violated the Geneva Convention.
Somehow I managed to contain the sporadic sputtering in the cabinet and was able to catch 98% of the afterbirth in either the bucket or the towel I had placed underneath.
As I cleaned the points of contact for the new stopper and secured the final pieces, I contemplated how I would go about cleaning the towel and bucket. I decided that the abomination contained within this heap of plastic, metal, cloth, and toxic waste is not worth gazing upon again. So in the dumpster it all went.
After cleaning up the remaining mess and putting away the tools, I jumped in the shower and fought back tears. Tears of joy that it was all over.
Still better than paying someone to come do it though.