Not the best way to start your day. I’m talking about the toilet in the bathroom adjacent to our bedroom, necessitating a trip down the stairs for an alternative.

I reminded myself how fortunate we are to have an option; certainly different from the house with only one bathroom that I grew up in. Surely, I could cope with a brief inconvenience.

A new toilet seemed the most practical solution; after all, the house is 30 years old and so is the toilet. My husband agreed and said we would shop for one as soon as he came home from the gym.

A few hours later I greeted him with the results of my internet search; there were lots of good, affordable (even attractive, for a toilet) choices. He, however, greeted me with the declaration that we did not need to buy a new toilet, he was going to fix it! Apparently his “gym buddies” had assured him that real men don’t buy toilets, they repair them. And he believed them.

There have been a few former failed handyman endeavors during the course of our 57 years of wedded bliss, so I was not happy about this. I suggested we call a plumber.

“Did your gym buddies offer to come and help? I caustically asked. They had not, but they had given lots of advice resulting in the first of many, many trips to Home Depot to get the necessary “gizmo” to get the handle to work.

He returned home from each of the first four trips exultant; he had been chatting with several men in the plumbing department all of whom had varying opinions as to what the problem might be and as well as varying suggestions as to what we needed. But none of those purchased items worked and my not-so-handyman spouse didn’t understand why. I suggested we call a plumber.

I relentlessly reminded him that there is absolutely nothing wrong with not being skilled at toilet repair and repeatedly recited a list of all the things he does superbly; after all, no one is good at everything. He ignored me and insisted he was certain he now “had a handle on the handle” (pun intended) and by tomorrow he would definitely have it fixed. It was now ten thirty p.m. Home Depot was closed. No bathroom access for the night. I suggested we call a plumber.

The next morning, I took a picture with my iPhone of the toilet tank and the parts scattered on the floor, something I should have done sooner. Armed with that photo my husband went to Home Depot. Again. One of his new plumbing department friends from the previous day was there. ”Oh,” he said after he saw the photo, “That is an old toilet. What you need is THIS!” I asked whether he wanted to invite all his new friends to dinner.

We now supposedly had the right thing, but it didn’t fit; the angle in the tank was too narrow, or the gizmo was too large or too small or whatever and the toilet was still inoperable. Night two of no bathroom. I sarcastically asked whether we should call his gym buddies. Then I suggested we call a plumber.

Day three: Armed with a fresh cup of coffee and more tools, spouse retreated to the bathroom, pointedly ignoring my attempts at a discussion about the lack of a functioning toilet, nor was he interested in hearing that a friend had just told me about their marvelous, brand new toilet, installed in less than an hour. (Far less time and probably less money than had by now been invested in this endeavor!)

A few hours later he came down the stairs with a sheepish smile and said, “I think we should call a plumber!”