Dear Plunger,

You are my deputy in the wild, wild rest room, BAE of the bathroom and the savior in sudstown. We go a long way back and I look forward to continuing our selfishly beneficial relationship.

I have always had a morbid fascination with you and your kind. I’ll admit that I was not a fan of your cousin the standard plunger. He’s let me down one time too many with his less than stellar work ethic. It just seems that when he’s at work, his heart isn’t really into it, you know? It’s like the feeling you have when you’re eating a gluten free cupcake: you’re eating it cause you had to and not because you actually wanted to.

Then, I met you, Mr. Double. You’re just fantastic. We’ve been through quite a few harrowing moments together. Even after all of these years, I still look out for you when entering the true man cave.

 Most people may shy away from you and any discussion about you; they shouldn’t. In fact, I propose that it’s foolish NOT to consider your importance. You should be the second thing a person brings into their household, after their popcorn popper. There was a time when I was that foolish and, oh boy, did I regret it.

The sound of the trees swaying in the warm breeze was like a soft white noise overlay to an orchestra of laughter and sandal claps. The pitter-patter of rain drops eventually drowned out what was, initially, a lovely summer day. We escaped from the liquid blanket and retreated home for some pizza and water (yeah, I still don’t really have soda/pop at my house).

What followed changed my life forever.

A wooden spoon can mix a great soup. A wooden spoon can be a pretty decent makeshift baseball bat or an oar for dainty people. Your job, though, is WAY out of its league. Unfortunately for me, I had not yet moved you in. Even more unfortunately for the wooden spoon, I had moved him in. The look on my friends face after losing, what I imagine, was a battle of epic proportion will serve as a reminder of my slip of mind.

Walking back home from Walgreens with you, a bucket, Pinesol cleaner, I recognized how vital you were to not only the bathroom ecosystem but to a person’s own nerves. My appreciation for you was renewed and a great lesson was learned. My only regret is that it came at the price of a decent spoon and Ikea bath mat.

Month’s later, I stood face to face with the great pearl bowl in my girlfriend’s house, alone without your company. Remembering this moment, I chose not to repeat history and, instead, waited; mostly to keep my own dignity but also because her spoons were much too far away.

Thank you for saving me again and again and again, ol’ pal.

Flushfully yours,

Adriel

*In loving memory of Pops; my real life deputy and friend.