Our utility was offering a rebate program for low-flow toilets. As a not-fully-employed carpenter, I had some time on my hands. I’d removed and installed toilets before. When was that? Anyway, it would come back to me.

Ever since the California drought in the late Seventies, I’d thought about a way to choose less water for, shall we say, liquid disposal and the regular amount for the heavier stuff. To my delight, I found a selection of “Dual Flush” units.

“The program will only cover purchases made before December 31, 2008,” the utility booklet stated. Our holiday bank balance resisted with its usual, “no-fun” pragmatism. These little timing difficulties are what credit cards are for, I rationalized; my wife did not concur. “We said we were going to swear off credit cards for our New Year’s Resolution!” I began to point out that a purchase in December wouldn’t technically count; however, thirty years of marriage counseled me to exercise that still nascent talent of keeping quiet.

In January, the utility extended its rebate. Quick to act upon such a favorable planetary alignment, I purchased an American Standard Dual Flush unit. Then began the messy work of a new year: out with the old and in with the new. I’ve been told any project requires three trips to the hardware store. On my second, I met a helpful plumber in the pipe and fixtures aisle. Soon I had the whole assemblage together.

Getting water into the thing proved more problematic, as the new tank was higher than the old one. On trip three, in addition to the longer feed line, I picked up a quick shut-off lever for the bathroom sink. Now I could save water while brushing my teeth. At the very least, I should get a Gold Star for conservation.

I stepped back to admire my work: a new, state of the art throne in the bathroom. And throne it was. A full four inches higher, I felt as though I were sitting atop some sacred vessel. I couldn’t see myself settling down on this — or climbing up — in my morning state of semi-consciousness. Later in the day, could one read a magazine from such a vantage? This “Right Height” commode was made for the large, the heavy or the disabled.

“This thing is huge! I can’t even touch the floor!” complained my wife.

“It’s the only Dual Flush they carry at Home Depot. It says it’s the ‘Right Height,'” I quoted.

“‘Right Height’ for whom?” she asked incredulously.

“Well, it says something about ADA: ‘Americans with Disabilities Act.'”

“We’re not disabled.” She stared at me.

“Sorry honey. It’s already installed! I can’t take it back now!”

“You can’t leave it there. It’s way too big. Look how far it sticks out! It’s an Elephant toilet!” She started to laugh hysterically.

“What can I do, honey?”

“Take it back! I bet they’ll take it back.” Then she looked at me and said very clearly, “It’s not staying here.” Apparently, I wasn’t going to get a Gold Star.

It’s amazing what reputable retailers will take back under pressure. I just had to explain the desperate situation — my marriage on the brink — tape all the broken cardboard boxes back together from the recycle bin — I’m a dutiful recycler — and pledge my future allegiance to Home Depot for all things domestic. Why not? They’d earned it.

After carefully measuring the seat height and wall distance on several brands, I bought another toilet that said “Compact.” Perfect! However, it used 1.6 gallons per flush, was not a Dual Flush and didn’t qualify for the utility rebate.

My wife again objected. “No rebate? We don’t have extra money for toilets!”

“None of the other ones would fit,” I explained.

“The old one fit,” she countered.

“The old one’s not low-flow. It’s out in the back yard, waiting for me to stick a plant in it. Let’s put something better in, now that I’ve done the work of taking it out.”

“Do the work of putting it back in!” she said, adamantly. “On the old one, I could hold the handle and only use a little water sometimes. We need to save money for other, unexpected things … like paying the mortgage. Haven’t you been reading the papers?”

“We’ll save some money in water usage even without the rebate,” I hazarded. After she stomped out of the room, I checked this hypothesis. Let’s see: water cost about $3 per unit of 768 gallons; saving two gallons per flush, ten flushes per day. That came to about two bucks a month. I could have this new toilet paid off in only ten years! Maybe I could roll this capital expenditure into the mortgage.

There would be no peace in the house until this issue was resolved. Already we were bumping into each other as we vied for access to the one remaining toilet. After returning the second toilet (still in new and unused condition this time), I went to the Special Order desk.

“Look right here: it’s the ‘Home Depot Pegasus Dual Flush RF,'” I explained to the clerk. “It’s your own brand. You must be able to order it.” After several calls and catalog searches, she wasn’t able to order it.

“It must be something they had out East,” said Eric in plumbing. “You aren’t going to get a good flush with a round front and short length. You need the extra room in the trap. Here: let’s find you one online.” Generous with his time, he found a different brand that was not standard stock. “Go up to the Pro Desk and they’ll order it for you.”

“We don’t have a relationship with that company,” the Pro clerk explained. “You’d do as well ordering it from one of their retailers.” After watching him wait on hold for five minutes – and assuming we were now out of my “not more than the rebate” budget — I abandoned my quest.

Back home I dragged the old toilet from the back yard and cleaned it, rejoicing in my decision not to bust it up and toss it in the garbage. After my refresher course, I easily placed the toilet and bolted it down with nuts I had in the garage. Then I rifled through the trash to find the tank nuts, repeating this maneuver once again to find the nylon seat bolts. Good thing the entire saga had transpired between weekly garbage pickups.

Then a thought struck me: my wife had complained about the wooden toilet seat in her bathroom. This one was easy-clean plastic. At the very least, I could give her an upgrade. All my work would not have been in vain … though I did wonder about one being gray and the other blue.

“Look honey, here’s that variable-flow toilet you like so much!” My wife was satisfied with the result, giving me a gratified smile. Although wasting several days and ending up right back where I started, I had preserved my marital capital for some future difference of opinion. Plus, I was now an expert on toilet installation, a skill that distinguishes a man from those who can only grill outdoors in the summertime.

“Honey, thanks for the ‘new’ seat; but the color doesn’t really match.”

As I washed up after switching the toilet seats back, I consoled myself that not everything was back to zero. Here before me was a faucet shut-off lever, the latest thing from Ace Hardware. Between brushing teeth and washing my hands, I would save at least a pint of water a day.

“That’s a fun shut-off switch on the sink,” said my eldest daughter the next day as she emerged from the bathroom with my grandson in tow. “Alex has been playing with it for half an hour!” In my mind, I saw a Gold Star swirling around the sink before disappearing irretrievably down the drain.