I stare at the toilet bowl watching my Fitbit sink to the bottom resulting in a loud “plop.” The noise is shocking because my brain is still watching it flip off my bra and do a slow-motion cirque du soleil summersault through the air. It’s mesmerizing, actually. It’s an instance of pure clarification, because I know where it is going to land. I could try and reach for it, but I stand there, dumbfounded and in awe of the graceful flight of my Fitbit — that is until the splash wakes me from this trance.
And there it is, sinking like a stone…
What puzzles me is how on earth I am responsible for landing my Fitbit in the bottom of the toilet. I mean, I have a five-year-old. How did I land it there? My five-year-old comes in immediately to point out that my Fitbit is at the bottom of the bowl.
“Look what you did!” He points out loudly. He makes an uh-oh whooping noise — the kind he makes when he thinks I might be mad at him — only we instead look at each other puzzled wondering who is going to be mad at me? He seems convinced that someone is going to be super mad. I believe him.
I have that momentary reminder of what being in trouble felt like as a child and my immediate instinct is to flush it. Flush the evidence and when it all backs up, plead ignorance. And I may in fact even reach my hand towards the handle, but then in a sobering moment, I realize two things: 1) we only have one bathroom — dammit! and 2) I will have to pay for this both monetarily and again when my husband asks me why the hell I flushed.
So I text my husband:
“Hypothetically, if my Fitbit landed in the toilet — is it flushable?”
“DO NOT FLUSH!!!!!!!”
“Hey Mama?” My son tugs at my arm. “I need to pee and ewwwwwwwwwwwwww you dropped that in there.” He points to the Fitbit. “I really gotta go Mama.” Pee dance follows.
I look at the toilet and consider whether I would ever wear it again. The answer is no. So I give my son the go ahead and watch as he giggles and aims for it, moving it around the basin with a stream of urine.
Can we back up? Can I tell you how we got here?
My husband was working late. I picked my son up from school directly following work but traffic was terrible. I even had to turn around mid-route to back track to another road and avoid the standstill. This alternate route entailed road construction. I picked up my son and he begged me for a kids meal. We let him have it once a week. He pleaded and frankly the idea of not having to cook for him was the convincing factor. The line at the drive-thru was CRAZY.
So when I walked in the door and let the dog out to relieve himself, I went running into our bathroom because I drink tea all day and somehow in the hurry of removing my coat, my Fitbit flew off.
And now we are caught up.
I would await for my husband to come home and fish it out. I was fairly certain that this fell under husbandly duties. I distinctly remember a similar scenario laid out in our wedding vows (he was in charge of bugs and toilets). That. Was. The. Plan. Just wait…
…until my son said,”Mama, now I gotta poo.”
It was then that I realized, I had to remove the damn Fitbit. It’d be better now than later. Rubber gloves and a plastic spoon and let me tell you, it was quite slippery, but I was able to do it and let my son use the toilet. As I tossed it into the trash bin it flashed me a greeting “Hey, Sexy” (yes, okay, that is the greeting I programmed it to say, okay?).
Now, I only mentioned it to a handful of friends but their reactions were unexpected. Unanimously, they all said, “No! You threw it out?”
Ummm.*throat clearing*. Yes, I threw it out. It.Was. In. A. TOILET. Did you guys not hear that part?
“You could have cleaned it.”
Maybe if I had a surgical tool sanitizer but I DON’T…
I chalked this up to my friends being a unique herd of beautiful weirdos — who I adore and actually respect greatly for knowing that had I kept my peed-on-toilet-swimming-activity-tracker, I’d be in the “judgment-free zone” with these awesome peeps (it made me feel a little warm inside and equally concerned me).
So fast-forward to today where I explained my ordeal on Facebook and asked for advice for a replacement. Any good suggestions, from anyone? Any preference in brand, anyone?
Instead, I got the same heated debate of “WHY DID YOU THROW IT OUT?”
While this debate plays out, I had to try and figure out what meaning this all had. What was the *Universe* trying to tell me by literally tossing my activity tracker in the toilet.
I had a notion of what it all meant. But I am tired and going to bed, so you’ll have to wait until tomorrow (or whenever I actually decide to write the next post).
To Be Continued…