James and Jonathan always bring me their water bottles, then I unscrew the lids, then they go to the sink and fill up the bottles, then they come back to me and I screw the lids back on. Just now, Jonathan brought me his water bottle and I absently unscrewed the lid and went back to what I was doing. Through the fog of my concentration, I heard a familiar water-sploshing sound, but I couldn't place it. Jonathan returned shortly with his full water bottle and cheerfully held it out to me. The whole oustide of the bottle was wet, so I frowned and replayed recent sounds in my memory. With great trepidation, I asked, "Did you get that water out of the sink or out of the toilet?"
Jonathan answered very seriously, with an affirmative nod, "The toilet."
Squelching the desire to puke and make the screeching noises of one who is horrified, I preached him a sermon about toilet water. A sermon, I might add, not unfamiliar to his conscious self. Except last time we talked about his HANDS going in the toilet. I never said ANYTHING about his water bottle.
The worst part about it for me, truly, is the fact that this incident marks the SECOND TIME today I have assisted him in filling his water bottle. The first time, I was on the phone and I have NO IDEA where he got the water. I am trying to make myself remember hearing the faucet run, but it's just not something I can definitively recall to mind. He could now be chalk full of mean, nasty, dirty, downright disgusting but invisible toilet germs!!
And I just got through making a mental note to clean the toilet...