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Faux Outrage

Literally the most important blog in the universe since 2010.

(Author’s note: My dad made me agree not to send him a gift for his birthday this year, so I am offering this blog post as a way to contain my self-imposed guilt.)

About a week ago, my toilet broke.

When your toilet breaks, you have a few options:

(a) attempt to fix the toilet
(b) when (a) fails, call a plumber to fix the toilet
(c) when (a) and (b) fails, accept a non-toilet lifestyle
(d) cry
(e) all of the above

Those are your options when your toilet breaks.

When my toilet breaks, I don’t think about any of those things.  I just pick up the phone and call my dad.

Nothing is broken until he says it is.

When he answers, I tell him everything I know about the porcelain god in my bathroom.  I tell him about the do-dad that fills up the thingy, the chain dealie that connects to the plastic ma-bob.  I tell him about how the water goes out and fills up through the white circle tube.  Like I said, I tell him everything I know.  Which is to say, I tell him as close to nothing as possible without sitting in actual, pin-dropping silence.

Toilets are not my thing.

In fact, toilets aren’t my dad’s thing, either.

He doesn’t have “a thing.”  He has things.  It doesn’t matter if it’s a toilet, refrigerator, a gold 1998 Saturn SL2 that hit a fox en route to Florida in 2003, or anything else made of plastic/metal/wood/circuits.  If it breaks, it can be fixed.  If it can be fixed, it will be fixed (no matter how old that dish washer was, Mom).  You can even ask my college roommates, who still bring up the time he made an unholy potion of dish soap and sand from the dorm volleyball court to magically remove a permanent marker mural I had hand-crafted during the Spring semester.

His expertise in all things has led to the development of a very simple, comforting catchphrase: Not a problem.

(Side note: I’m not sure if he knows that this is his catchphrase.  If this is true, he will find out when he reads this on his birthday.)

Let me tell you, it’s pretty easy to go through life when your dad’s slogan is “Not a problem.”  (I’ve known of other fathers to have the exact opposite theory of life.  “A problem!  A problem!  A problem!”)  Since things that could be fixed by my father were always classified as non-problems (after, in one instance, some pointed questions about my decision to drive for several hundred miles instead of immediately stopping to call him right after Car-Plus-Fox-Equals-Yikes-Fest), I’ve lived a relatively problem-free life.

So thank you, Dad.  And happy birthday!

And as for me writing a blog post just for you?  Not a problem.

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