The toilet is broken.
Fortunately, it is not an emergency. It’s just that the thing that connects the flusher handle to the chain to pull up the plug to start the whole process in motion has snapped. It was plastic, and it had probably never been given much attention, probably not once been replaced.
So, we have to reach into the toilet tank to flush the thing.
What’s funny is that if it were just me, I would only flush every three or four pees or after a poop. But my fiance, a man, objects to this and seems to think that leaving pee in the toilet is more disgusting than having to reach into the tank water to flush. Maybe it’s the toilet paper that he finds offensive because he doesn’t have to use it when he pees. Maybe he just knows something I don’t about the congregation of bacteria that will erupt from such standing water mixed with waste. Maybe he’s just as much of a wimp about that as I am about not wanting to reach into the toilet tank to flush.
The worst thing about the toilet breaking is that now I have to clean up the bathroom so I’m not embarrassed when they come to fix it. I hate cleaning the bathroom.