What’s your household nightmare? I have several dreams about such things, but this week brought one right smack into reality.
It was a peaceful evening and I was looking forward to a relaxing night of favorite movies with my kitty. Not wanting to miss a moment of Titanic, I hit the bathroom first. Without thinking anything of it, I pushed the handle to flush.
Whooomshwash! “Oh, holy Hannah!” The rush of water hit me and the bathroom floor faster than my brain computed the word “flood.” Where did this lovely little plumbing gift come from?
Grabbing the plunger out of the utility closet, I attempted to use it, my saturated slippers sliding every which way. “Oh, good night!” I hollered as the plunger handle broke and the rubber split in half.
Luckily, an eight-pack of paper towels was also in the closet with a mop and bucket. An hour later–and a drenched mop with seven empty towel rolls–I’d gotten things cleaned up enough to call the emergency maintenance number.
“Yuck!” I groaned as I tossed my sorry slippers in the garbage, listening to the phone buzzing the after-hours help. As soon as I said my name and explained my need, the woman panicked. “Oh, honey, you’re blind! Don’t move! You can fall–I’ll get someone there in less than fifteen minutes. Sit still!”
No way! I threw on the oldest clothes in exchange for the soaked nightgown, which consisted of purple sweatpants, un-matching shoes, and a $2.00 Mickey Mouse T-shirt. Opening the door to the maintenance guy, I noticed he was starting to sneeze.
“Cat!” he gasped. “I’m allergic!”
JJ was beside my right leg, tail unmoving. “Come on, sweetie cat,” I coaxed as there came a series of rattles, thumps, and sneezes from the bathroom. Within ten minutes, the demon-toilet was fixed and JJ had been let out of the bedroom.
After more cleaning, I dropped on to the bed, exhausted. Someone in the movie was arguing that the Titanic was sinkable. “Tell me about it,” I muttered, as I pushed “stop” on the remote. I’d had enough water disasters for one day.