Dear Indoor Plumbing,
I adore you from your underground pipes that rush water to my tap—to your outgoing drains that take away my cra… (clears throat) waste.
I love your shower when it’s melt-the-grease-off-me hot. You are always there when I send the kids to the pot. You help me wash my hair and scrub my pits, you even help me clear up zits.
You only failed me now and then, like when the kids used you as a garbage bin. We took off the toilet and cleaned out your plumbing. (Although, your smell then was particularly numbing.)
I abandoned you when we went out camping, but during the night I had to go tramping…away to the outhouse where creatures could lurk, and where I could hear my business go splurt.
There was no fresh water to spruce up the dishes, just me staring at a boatload of fishes. I scraped off their scales and scooped out the innards, but without you the clean-up was worse than my dinner.
When we returned home, I danced in the kitchen. I jigged in the bathroom. I garbage-disposaled some chicken. I hugged the hot water heater. I put a bow on the flusher. I ran through the house singing an ode to my washer. If you were a man, I would kiss you with passion, but since you are not, I’ll keep up your fashion. From Kohler to Kraus, I’ll update your look, so that when visitors come, they too will be hooked.
Then everyone will praise you throughout the whole land, but always remember, I am your true, biggest fan.
Your flushing…(clears throat) blushing love,