Member
Idaho Falls, Idaho
(This post was last modified: 03-07-2019, 04:53 AM by Lipripper660.)
![[Image: fV8sXw5.jpg]](https://i.imgur.com/fV8sXw5.jpg)
In the photo is a brush I assembled some time ago. The handle is a Whipped Dog butterscotch but as much a I dig butterscotch this one seemed a bit orange rather than true butterscotch. Almost like a high school athlete dreaming of being a college Division One stand-out but not having the skills nor the work ethic to get there. That said, I like the shape and I do like orange so it made the cut. I put a 24mm Cashmere knot in it and lofted it for splay although I mostly paint brush a lather into existence. Cashmere knots are wonderfully soft, retain water well for a synthetic, and are pretty densely packed. The knot made the brush a utility player. But alas she is dead.
I suppose her demise might have come from a glue plug failure and clumps of bristles started to shed, but that's not it. I might have dropped the orange resin handle on the tile and cracked it but that's not it either. I could have used a wrong chemical while cleaning it and turned it into an knot resembling Robert Plant's 70s hairdo. (See what I did there? Cashmere knot played masterfully against zeppelins song Kashmir. But as my wife reminds me, "if you have to explain a joke, was it a good joke in the first place?" Alas, the burden of marrying for love. But the fact is, the brush is gone!
I was in the bathroom, by myself, um, "making water". As I finished up I saw old "Robert" sitting there from the morning shave and being a multitasker decided that this left-handed cowboy, who was also a baseball stand-out could handle (I'm on fire), flushing a toilet AND placing a dry brush back on its shelf. Somewhere in the process I learned that I really am not good at multitasking and the brush dead-centered the porcelain whirlpool! Hey, I'm no prude, and according to Patches O'Hoolahan in Dodge Ball, "urine is sterile and tastes good" so I prepped for a right-hand digit dive to grab the brush. (Don't worry gents, it won't show up in the buy-sell-trade.). But I found out before splashdown that not only can't I do two things at once but my reflexes are slower too and the brush hit the corner before I had to smell like Pinesol. I can share however, that my ears still function and the clattering of a resin handle making its path through the aquatic nether regions of a commode are impressive to say the least. Reminded me of the day in second grade when Calvin Ward spilled his marble bag on the linoleum floor of Mrs Nye's classroom during a particularly quite time. (I have a lot of good Calvin stories but not today.).
GONE! I'd paid attention to make sure that unlike a waxed cup my young daughter flushed twenty-five years ago, that exactly matched the diameter of a household pipe, and necessitated toilet removal to get it back in service, old Robert, I was pretty sure, had completed the trip. To make sure I put copious quantities of TP in the bowl and did a test flush. Whew, it worked. I thought about doing another test but didn't have a Baby Ruth. Gone, gone gone.
As it stands, my good friend David is the superintendent of the waste water treatment plant and I COULD have him have the fellas be on the look-out but that takes smelly brush-funk to a whole other level.
