So, Dani and I are getting ready to go out for a quick dinner before our dance lesson last night when, all of a sudden, she runs out into the living room. “Honey, the toilet is talking to me.”

Not one to miss the verbal skills of our household plumbing, I ran into the bathroom to find a small but steady stream of foam rising in our toilet. The bubbles literally shot up into the bowl like a little fountain. They eventually rose and overflowed onto the ground as I scrambled to find the number for our manager. While on the phone, I snapped this pic:

The manager informed me that, in his 20 or so years working at our complex, he’d seen this happen about five times or so and that it was nothing to worry about. I’m sorry, but when strange foreign foam enters my house THROUGH THE TOILET, that’s cause for concern in my book. So he called the plumber to confirm with him. Sure enough, the word came back that one of my neighbors had, apparently, taken a major bubble bath or whatever and the resulting foam from that was a bit much for the pipes to handle.

You gotta love apartment living.