I’ve never claimed to be a Mr. Fixit. When called upon to play that role, I dread it.
Today I had to unclog the bathroom sink. This job has been known to take me as long as two hours. It should take 15 minutes. The problem is that our bathroom is very small, the drain is inside a cabinet that takes up valuable floor space, and I’m just too big to get in there without contortions.
The last time I did it, or rather thought I’d done it, I finished the job in 20 minutes and proclaimed myself a living legend–until I turned the tap and water started spurting all over the place. It turned out that I’d forgotten to re-install a washer, so I had to do the whole blamed thing all over again.
Today, not counting going up and down the stairs for assorted items of equipment–less than half an hour! Calloo, callay, O frabjous day! I turned on the tap and nothing bad happened. I think I got all the parts in that should be in.
Dare I celebrate with a second cigar? Or would that be altogether too sybaritic, not to mention hubris?
But first feed the cat, she’s nagging me.