I don’t know if I ever am going to get out of here

[First Lady]

I don’t know if I ever am going to get out of here.

That was the subject line of the email this morning from my husband. With his work it is not unusual for us to be separated for great lengths of time. This Christmas he was home for a whopping six days. We are hopeful we might get another 2 or 3 days together soon.

We have never celebrated New Years, Valentines or his birthday together. We do communicate a great deal on the phone or through email. The written word is very powerful and I highly recommend it to any man wishing to give his significant other special gift; the sharing of his most inner and personal thoughts.

I don’t recommend using the following sample as a guideline. As I read this email on my blackberry I thought I had opened my browser to the puck forum by mistake.

Never in my seismic career have I had so many standby days on a prairie job. The winds are blasting, the helicopter is grounded (we were looking at every option) and even the plows wont go out.

I should have known from the first omen of the morning. I had a magnificent movement. I could almost hear an angelic choir singing as my body eagerly purged the remnants of the chili soup from the other night as the paint on the walls bubbled to the beat. While aglow in the aftermath of my intense and monumental creation, I reluctantly depressed the lever to send my aftermath to its watery grave. Instead of the expected clockwise circling of a prairie burial at sea, the roiling waters rose and threatened the rim of the bowl. I had plugged the ^%$&^%$ toilet solid. Thankfully the dreaded waters ceased to rise a short centimeter from the top of the bowl and remained there. My preparations for the building of an arc were deferred.

Shamefully I trod to the front desk to inquire as to the whereabouts of a trout-pusher (plunger for non-initiates). Tommy Lee was on duty. Not the rock star but the nearly as famous Korean man who has only recently mastered the English term of "herro". Of course simply asking for a plunger was futile; I had to play a graphic game of charades with him in a lobby where other guests dejected by the weather lingered. Finally the candle lit above his little head as I furiously depicted myself standing above a toilet and pushing feces down the hole with something in my hand rather than using my hand itself.

This led to another odyssey as Mr. Lee and I toured every maintenance and laundry room in the motel searching for the elusive plumbers’ helper. Our efforts were for naught though it was enlightening to see all those hidden treasures that guests take for granted and rarely view in those rooms dedicated to the running of such as fine institution as this. None of the regular staff was in yet as it is indeed the first day of the New Year and apparently one had run off with the plunger.

Sadly I had to leave my floating mess and leave for the field only imagining how fine the view and aroma would be when some unfortunate and likely hung over maid finally gets to my room. We only made it about 15 km from town when we pulled over for almost an hour to await the word from the line crew as to whether we would have a plow or not.

With a profound lack of foresight, I had let my bladder fill as my morning coffees made their way through my system quickly as they were unencumbered by breakfast. Upon returning to the motel and nearly at the point of saturation I had nowhere to relieve myself. I had to beg a coworker from across the hall to use his toilet. I mean beg as he made me promise that I was only peeing and not pooping as he had experienced my flatulence before and no amount of money in the world was going to let my arse touch his toilet seat.

As I blissfully relieved myself with a pressure that only long suffering can create, I peered around the small room. From behind the toilet I saw peeking what appeared to be a wooden handle. I lean around to inquire more closely and JOY!!!! It was the missing plunger. The coworker had gotten it last night for his plugged toilet and forgot to return it.

I marched proudly from his bathroom and across the hall to my own. I had plunger in hand but did have growing trepidation. Upon lifting the lid my fears were proven correct. Things had gone from bad to worse as the immersion had caused the creation to transform into something rather looser. There was no way to knock something aside and plunge without the dread squishing. I simply had to dive in and start pumping at it.

Either way no sense going into detail; that would be gross. The toilet is now clear.

So how is your morning going babe?

[Bob]

Courtesy flushes. Seriously. Properly timed they can remove all chances of a incident like that. Unless the plumbing is seriously inadequate or compromised elsewhere, in which case it's a losing battle from the start.

Very funny story, btw. The images evoked by the message are ... interesting.

[STeeLy]

Props to your husband First Lady!

This is almost just as epic as Ryan's Steakhouse.

Mind you, not exactly the best way to write to a spouse

[First Lady]

Originally Posted by STeeLy

Props to your husband First Lady!

This is almost just as epic as Ryan's Steakhouse.

Thanks.

Mind you, not exactly the best way to write to a spouse

Thankfully it is outweighed by many others that are not in this vein.

[Prototype]

For someone who can write so poetically about fecies, his title doesn't flow as well as his described movement. It should have read "I don't know if I'm ever getting out of here", or "I don't know if I'm ever going to get out of here".

Just some creative help, for someone who may not need it after reading that Reader's Digest worthy scripture.

You must be so proud.

[Sample00]

had me laughing out loud...great stuff...er..well written!

[Bobblehead]

I don't see the problem here.

Then again, I rarely get invited back to the place twice.

[Traditional_Ale]

I wish we still had skill. I'd nominate them both for red square!

Considering the crappy day ahead, that was an awesome read to start it off!

[First Lady]

Originally Posted by Prototype

For someone who can write so poetically about fecies, his title doesn't flow as well as his described movement. It should have read "I don't know if I'm ever getting out of here", or "I don't know if I'm ever going to get out of here".

Just some creative help, for someone who may not need it after reading that Reader's Digest worthy scripture.

You must be so proud.

He is a frequent lurker and will see your kind advice. Though I don't think he was going for any literary award when he wrote it; actually I am a bit surprise he gave me permission to post it. * snicker *

Originally Posted by Traditional_Ale

I wish we still had skill. I'd nominate them both for red square!

Considering the crappy day ahead, that was an awesome read to start it off!

Thanks, and I am glad it brightened your day.

[STeeLy]

Originally Posted by First Lady

actually I am a bit surprise he gave me permission to post it. * snicker *

I think he wrote it like that just so u can post it

[BuzzardsWife]

Your emails are sooo much more romantic than mine and Buzz's

[First Lady]

Originally Posted by BuzzardsWife

Your emails are sooo much more romantic than mine and Buzz's

LOL ..

Our emails fall into 4 catagories.
In no particular order.....

1. Busineess. (I am his bookkeeper, taxi, courier, Chief of basically everything)
2. Romantic
3. Assinine (see above)
4. NSFW