The Bathroom Drama: "And her tears flowed like wine" July 12, 2008 18:25
Let me tell you about my day, dear readers, a day that had nothing to do with sewing, not even a subconscious avoidance of said terrifying craft. Today’s drama started last night, and it seemed much more manageable then, ever so much, well, cheaper. Bear with me, be patient, please, as I tell you this soggy tale. And, yep, it is soggy. Wait and see.
If only I had been sewing. But.
Oh, and I must warn you right here, before your eyes go any further, that if you are an effete, high-minded, sensitive sort, you'll want to stop reading here. I will not be responsible if you proceed.
So. To get back to my story. I was dressing for our ballroom dance last night, and I went into hubby’s bathroom for something. Don’t even ask me what I needed from his bathroom, because I don’t remember. I don’t remember at all. The memory was obliterated by the nasty feel of wet carpet underneath my bare feet. Not squishy wet. Uncomfortable wet. Expensive wet. I quickly left the bathroom to get His Bertness, taking as few steps as possible. I could feel the germs rushing up the soles of my feet, over my calves, my thighs, enveloping my entire body. Eeeeeewwwwwwwggggghhh. I could already see money being sucked down the drain. (Cheap bathroom pun intended.) Hubby thought it must be the toilet. He felt the floor around the base of it, it was damp, B follows A, it makes so much sense. Right? So, this morning, we went to Home Depot, we bought a toilet. We came home.
Oh, and did I tell you we were having friends over for dinner? Well, yes, we were. But.
So, as I was saying, we returned home. Hubby ripped up the carpet. (I interrupt this story to tell you that I am not the kind of person who would ever put carpet in a bathroom. What a dirty idea. What do you do if the toilet overflows? The feces is there, in your carpet, forever, with germs begetting germs begetting germs begetting ever more germs. Neither would I choose the ugly brown vinyl that lurked beneath the carpet. Whatever my flaws — and I have many — a taste deficiency is not one of them.) Hubby took a break. Hubby returned to his task. Hubby discovered the leak wasn’t from the toilet. No. It was so much worse. So very much worse. More detective work (which included the joyous task of peeling down wallpaper — can you beat that task for fun on a rainy Saturday afternoon?) revealed that the southern and eastern walls of the bath were soaked from ceiling to floor. Now hubby thinks that gutters are the cause of the leak. I think expensive. Very expensive. Yes, new drywall will be involved. And probably new gutters. (Gentle, beseeching advertisement inserted here: Buy more patterns and jewelry from The Blue Gardenia, where the patterns are counted, the jewelry is sparkling, yada yada. Oh. I'll make it easier for ya: thebluegardenia.com)
Needless to say, I did not make tortilla soup and chocolate shortcake for friends. Needless to say, we dined out. Needless to say, I did not work on my sewing area. Needless to say, I did not cut out my pattern. Needless to say, I feel bloated from restaurant food.
But as a great poet once said: Life sucks, then ya die.
Editor's hat note: As careful, hard-working writer's hat was doublechecking usage of further/farther, a glass of water was spilled on her keyboard. She has since taken to her bed with the vapors, armed with smelling salts and a tattered — but dry — copy of Madame Bovary.