The one where we did undisclosed things in an undisclosed vacation house

When our family of 13 vacations together, everyone pitches in to rent a big house for all of us to stay. We love finding ones with an elevator or an indoor pool or anything else that's super cool for the grand babies to experience and we're always mindful that this is someone else's home, therefore we treat everything in it even more respectfully than we treat our own and aim to leave it even better than the condition we found it in.

That being said, we're also human, we frequently travel with dogs, and we're...well, us, so we always get whatever insurance coverage the rental company offers. 

We're all pitching in on these houses, so I never ask or expect to get the "master" bedroom. What I do request, is that we stay in whatever bedroom is on the main floor with the kitchen since I'm the early-rising-coffee-drinking-breakfast-maker and I don't want to risk disturbing anyone else in the house.

So one undisclosed year at an undisclosed location, we got an amazing deal on an enormous undisclosed house right on the beach. It was 3 floors high, with the main floor being at the top, and it had an elevator, a theater room, and it's own pool.

Right off the bat, we found the broken elevator. 

Not ideal, but oh well. I got busy trucking our stuff up the stairs to the top floor.

My first trip up all the flights of stairs, I was met with the overpowering aroma of alcohol. The drinking kind. When I got to the top, I found 3 of our undisclosed kids picking up glass and sopping up an entire bottle of wine all over the floor. We've been here 5 minutes, but okay then.

My second trip loaded down with food and luggage up all the flights of stairs, I realized I hadn't seen Ron on either trip up and/or down these stairs. Hot and mad, I went looking for him in our bathroom, because heaven forbid the dude not poop every time he drives or walks from here to there and it annoys the freakin' crap out of me, no pun intended. Apparently it's a man thing, but seriously. No one can possibly have that much poop. I refuse to believe it.

I was fully expecting to open that door and find him sitting there on his phone, but instead I found him standing naked from the waist down with his head sticking out of the window overlooking the front of the house.

What.The.Hellll have I walked in on.

He jerked his head back inside and whispered "The bag is on the roof."

Dude. You're half naked and saying that to me as if it explains absolutely anything. 

Here's the cliff notes version:

He pooped without checking for toilet paper first.

He yelled to the undisclosed children cleaning up wine in the kitchen and they brought him a roll of paper towels. 

He wiped with paper towels. 

Unable to flush paper towels, he put them in the little pink trash bag in the can beside the toilet. 

As if alll of that were not enough, here is where the story actually takes the truly baffling turn. 

Rather than walking the bag downstairs fully clothed and quietly disposing of it in the trashcan at the end of the driveway, he decided the better option was to strip naked from the waist down and throw it out the window with the goal being...what. 

What.exactly.was.the.goal? To watch it drop 3 stories before landing at the feet of our children as they unloaded their cars below and then hope they didn't get curious and tear open the pretty pink gift bag that just fell from the sky? Or was hiding it on the roof of our luxury vacation rental the true end game? 

I gotta be honest with ya. If a bag of poopy paper towels is unavoidable, keeping my pants on and carrying it down 3 flights of stairs is the only option that would've crossed my mind. But hey. Maybe that's just me.

When asked why he didn't do that (Caymen literally asked him last night) he replied "I didn't want to draw attention and face all the questions." 

Well then. Good thing that didn't happen.

As it turned out, the broken elevator that never did get fixed while we were there wasn't the only issue with that house. 

The following day, 2 of our undisclosed kids walked in on us at 2am. (Read between the lines or better yet, don't.)

They said "It's raining downstairs."

Well that's a weird thing to say.

We all went downstairs to discover that when an undisclosed person staying in a second floor room takes a bath, it rains down through the light fixtures over the theater room. 

Also a sliding door wasn't installed properly and an undisclosed person knocked it off it's track and it fell onto the pool table. While we're at it, one of the dogs had diarrhea on the top deck.

We called a little family meeting. 

We've clearly stumbled into The Money Pit house, our trip insurance covers 2,500 dollars, and it's only Sunday. So we're gonna need to slow it down and get our shit together.

Lookin' at you Ron and Rufus. 

We all gonna start knockin' on bedroom doors first too, k?