Lean a little bit closer

Didn't I say there would be a price? I thought it might be an emotional or philosophical reckoning about returning home and what that entails, but no, it happens to be a very physical experience having to do with two dogs not right in the tum-tums and of two toilets doing the opposite of what is required.
Eamon fixed one of them yesterday, toilette that is, and through the bathroom window the entire Midwest could hear him using his imaginative word usage to relay his frustration and view on all things needing repair.
I thought about how if I was at my job, or in fact doing a task around the house, and I screamed fucking motherfucker every time I hit a snag, that perhaps others would find that unacceptable. And obviously it is, but it's my husband's way of letting us know he is doing something; he doesn't want to, he shouldn't have to but he is.