We were noticing a small leak from the toilet yesterday, so we are fixing it before it gets to be a major reno. I should mention that the hubby is repairing it, as I am not allowed to be around him when there are issues of a “plumbing” nature.
I hear him in the kitchen rummaging through my baking cupboard.
“What are you looking for?” I ask.
“I’m looking for a pan.” he answers.
It suddenly occurs to me why he needs a pan, so I pipe up and declare, “If you think you are using my good baking pans to drain the toilet water in, you had better think again.” (I know how this guy thinks.)
“I don’t know why I can’t use them,” he replies. “It’s just clean water.”
“I don’t care,” I fire back. “You’re not using my good baking pans! Find something else!”
He shuts the cupboard door and heads off downstairs. A few minutes later I hear him coming up to begin the job.
Meanwhile, I’m thinking to myself that this is not going to be a good thing. Hubby is a guy who can usually do anything. However, plumbing and electrical are definitely not his forte.
Thinking it’s time to see what’s going on, I open the bathroom door and see he’s pouring toilet water into the sink from my fruit bowl. I just shake my head. I’ll never look at that bowl the same. Thank goodness it wasn’t expensive, because clean water or not, it’s gone to the dump. I’m exiled, once again to the studio, as quote, “my advice is not appreciated”, unquote. I no sooner park my butt, when I hear yelling from the bathroom.
“GET ME A TOWEL…OR A RAG, OR ANYTHING!” he shouts.
As his outburst of expletives assaults my eardrums, I vault out of my chair as if I’ve been shot out of a cannon. Rushing to the linen closet, I grab an old towel and practically rupture a kidney getting into the bathroom.
“Never mind, I found something,” he says in a matter of fact way. There, on the floor is my best towel, sopping wet and crumpled up like some old newspaper. I switch it for the ratty towel, drop the wet towel in the laundry, and zip my lips. Leaving him there on his hands and knees, (a tempting shoe target), I return to my studio.
It isn’t five minutes later, and he’s standing in the doorway.
“I’m going downtown. I need a wax ring for the toilet,” he announces.
My only response is, “Um hum, I figured you would need one. Remember, I suggested we should get one yesterday when we were at Home Depot?” He’s giving me a not so nice stare.
“Do we need to revisit your advice right now, or do you want this toilet fixed?” was his ticked off response. In two seconds, he’s out the door.
Twenty minutes later he returns, and with the passing of another hour, the seal is in, the toilet is on, and Hubby is tightening up the last bolt. I’m congratulating him on the awesome job he’s done, when one last twist from the wrench snaps the last bolt. “SplinK”. Grrr… That’s what you get for over confidence. He unleashes a few colorful phrases on his way to the toolbox for reinforcements. It’s now become a matter of principle. Hubby against the world, or rather in this case, against the toilet.
I make my exit.
Sometime later, I hear an unexpected loud “FLUSH”! I rush into the bathroom, and we both stand there holding our breath. The seconds tick by. We scour the area for leaks, as if we were the ground crew checking the space shuttle before its maiden launch. One small poopy for man, one giant leak for mankind!
Hallelujah! No Leaks! This is better than winning the lottery, and we start doing our happy dance.
I know the card ladies will be glad they don’t have to drop their drawers on the lawn come Tuesday. Thank you Hubby, and Sir Thomas Crapper!
Now, won’t it be great when we get the toilet to stop flushing itself?
Author Val Enders resides in Spruce Grove, Alberta. She married her high school sweetheart, Richard, and they’ve been together for over 40 years. Val doesn’t consider herself a writer by profession, rather she writes more for her own enjoyment. An accomplished artist, Val’s a member of the Allied Arts Council of Spruce Grove. Visit Val’s “Journey Into Art” website at www.vals.webs.com
