We haven’t posted much lately, so I hate that this is the first thing I’m writing about in a while. Do not read this if you have a weak stomach.
If a stranger came to your house and asked to use your bathroom, would you let them in? Ok, what if this stranger told you she knows the neighbor two doors down but they didn’t answer the door? What if she said she had MS and couldn’t control her bowels? Would you let her in? What if she told you she had already “gone” in her pants? What would you do?
Well, if your name was Chad Webb last night, you would direct her to the restroom. I don’t blame him. It is a tough situation. She sounded like she was really in need. I was on the couch in the other room listening, offering no help.
She went in to the bathroom and we waited in the living room, thinking just how strange it was. She was in there for a while, and when she came out, she let us know that she had cleaned up as best should could, but we would have to clean up a little more. She also informed us that the trash would need to be taken out because she had put her underwear in it. She was very appreciative and wanted to send us a thank-you card. We told her that it was not necessary. We really just didn’t want to talk because it was so awkward.
Chad informed me that because he was the one who opened the door and talked to her, I was the one who had to clean up after her. Ummm, let’s just say he got the better end of the deal there. It was disgusting in the restroom, with poo on the toilet and dirty, wet toilet paper on the floor. I’ve Clorox-wiped all over and washed the towels that were in there, but I still haven’t gone there since then. I hope I can eventually feel like it is my home bathroom again someday.
I don’t know why this is worth writing about. Why is it so weird that someone who really needed it would ask for help? And why have Chad and I been suspicious of the whole event since it happened? Like, one thing I thought of was that she goes around the neighborhood asking to come into people’s houses, claiming to know a neighbor. I mean, maybe she didn’t really know that lady two doors down. Before she left, she asked us our last name. My thought was, what if next time, she goes to someone down the street and says, “I know the Webbs.” I hope that it’s not true, and I hope we really did help her out, but it is just kind of sad that we automatically speculate something strange is going on.