Okay, remember how I talked about my husband being MacGyver and fixing my computer (computer power cord working liking a charm by the way), and how I tend to break things that he ultimately has to fix? Remember that? (Scroll down in blog entries if you don’t).
Well, I broke something. Surprise, surprise, right?
For the last few mornings, taking a shower is more like taking a dribble—not a shower at all. Scott soaked the showerhead in Lime-A-Way, but it didn’t seem to help. This morning’s shower was a joke—drip, drip, spit some water, drip, drip.
I went and bought a new showerhead. That’s a good thing, or so I thought.
Then I tried to install it.
Not such a good thing. Someone should have stopped me, because a plumber I am not.
I couldn’t get the old one off, so I twisted and twisted. I got out the pliers and twisted some more.
The stupid thing just wouldn’t budge. Dag nab it! I figured if I just tried a little harder--
Snap!
I turned on the water, and all the water now runs down the tile and the metal pipe-pole is VERY, VERY loose. None of the water makes it to the showerhead.
I think I completely made the situation worse.
Shouldn’t it be easy to put a new showerhead on? Yeah, it should. That’s what I thought. Easy-Peasy. But NOOO!!
I called Scott. “Hi,” I said. “You love me, right?”
He hesitated. “Yeah.” He dragged out the word, fearful of where this conversation was leading. “Why? How much is this going to cost me?” (He knows me too well).
“It shouldn’t cost a thing,” I said. (I’m pretty sure it’s going to cost something). “All I need from you is your time and MacGyver skills.”
“What did you do?”
I proceeded to tell him how I was such a good wife that I had thought I would surprise him with a fully-functioning shower and that I kind of installed a new showerhead, but “somehow” it wasn’t working right.
“There’s a leak,” I said.
He expelled his breath slowly on the on the phone. “I assume it’s a big leak, right?”
“Well,” I said. “What do you mean by ‘a big leak’ exactly?”
Silence.
“I love you,” I said.
After a moment. “I love you too. I will look at it when I get home. You know I spent all day yesterday repairing and replacing a sprinkler valve, right?”
“Yes!” I said. “That you did, and I had NOTHING to do with that.” (Which is true, by the way. I don’t even know how to turn on the sprinklers. The sprinkler valve had nothing to do with me). “And since you were sooo good at fixing that problem, you should be a whiz at fixing this one. I know you can do it.”
Silence.
“I love you,” I said.
“I love you too.”
**Update: Scott is home. He just came out of the bathroom holding the entire showerhead—pipe device.
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t do that,” I said. “That was still attached to the wall when I left. It was a little loose, but attached.”
“You broke it.”
“No I didn’t,” I insisted. “It was still hooked.”
“By a little metal piece of pipe—”
“YOU broke it!”
“Angela.” He looked at me with a great deal of irritation.
“I didn’t mean too.”
He expelled his breath again. (He looked like one of those guys with the smoke coming out of his ears, but without the smoke part). “You broke it the worst possible way. I’m going to have to tear a HUGE hole into the wall to fix it. I am going to have to retile the WHOLE shower. We are not going to be able to use this shower for a VERY long time. Do you understand just what trouble you have caused here? ”
“YES!” I say. “I do understand. I will never, ever do it again—EVER. A total cross-over-the-heart-promise.”
He nods with squinted eyes, resigning himself to the fact that what is done, is done.
“But can you fix it by tomorrow morning?”
**UPDATE: Scott is NOT happy with me at all. I REALLY, REALLY broke the shower. We may have to remodel the whole bathroom now. He thinks we may have to *gasp* call a plumber.
Well, I broke something. Surprise, surprise, right?
For the last few mornings, taking a shower is more like taking a dribble—not a shower at all. Scott soaked the showerhead in Lime-A-Way, but it didn’t seem to help. This morning’s shower was a joke—drip, drip, spit some water, drip, drip.
I went and bought a new showerhead. That’s a good thing, or so I thought.
Then I tried to install it.
Not such a good thing. Someone should have stopped me, because a plumber I am not.
I couldn’t get the old one off, so I twisted and twisted. I got out the pliers and twisted some more.
The stupid thing just wouldn’t budge. Dag nab it! I figured if I just tried a little harder--
Snap!
I turned on the water, and all the water now runs down the tile and the metal pipe-pole is VERY, VERY loose. None of the water makes it to the showerhead.
I think I completely made the situation worse.
Shouldn’t it be easy to put a new showerhead on? Yeah, it should. That’s what I thought. Easy-Peasy. But NOOO!!
I called Scott. “Hi,” I said. “You love me, right?”
He hesitated. “Yeah.” He dragged out the word, fearful of where this conversation was leading. “Why? How much is this going to cost me?” (He knows me too well).
“It shouldn’t cost a thing,” I said. (I’m pretty sure it’s going to cost something). “All I need from you is your time and MacGyver skills.”
“What did you do?”
I proceeded to tell him how I was such a good wife that I had thought I would surprise him with a fully-functioning shower and that I kind of installed a new showerhead, but “somehow” it wasn’t working right.
“There’s a leak,” I said.
He expelled his breath slowly on the on the phone. “I assume it’s a big leak, right?”
“Well,” I said. “What do you mean by ‘a big leak’ exactly?”
Silence.
“I love you,” I said.
After a moment. “I love you too. I will look at it when I get home. You know I spent all day yesterday repairing and replacing a sprinkler valve, right?”
“Yes!” I said. “That you did, and I had NOTHING to do with that.” (Which is true, by the way. I don’t even know how to turn on the sprinklers. The sprinkler valve had nothing to do with me). “And since you were sooo good at fixing that problem, you should be a whiz at fixing this one. I know you can do it.”
Silence.
“I love you,” I said.
“I love you too.”
**Update: Scott is home. He just came out of the bathroom holding the entire showerhead—pipe device.
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t do that,” I said. “That was still attached to the wall when I left. It was a little loose, but attached.”
“You broke it.”
“No I didn’t,” I insisted. “It was still hooked.”
“By a little metal piece of pipe—”
“YOU broke it!”
“Angela.” He looked at me with a great deal of irritation.
“I didn’t mean too.”
He expelled his breath again. (He looked like one of those guys with the smoke coming out of his ears, but without the smoke part). “You broke it the worst possible way. I’m going to have to tear a HUGE hole into the wall to fix it. I am going to have to retile the WHOLE shower. We are not going to be able to use this shower for a VERY long time. Do you understand just what trouble you have caused here? ”
“YES!” I say. “I do understand. I will never, ever do it again—EVER. A total cross-over-the-heart-promise.”
He nods with squinted eyes, resigning himself to the fact that what is done, is done.
“But can you fix it by tomorrow morning?”
**UPDATE: Scott is NOT happy with me at all. I REALLY, REALLY broke the shower. We may have to remodel the whole bathroom now. He thinks we may have to *gasp* call a plumber.
