The dadblasted drip

I stopped by to visit my blog friend, Val at Unbagging the Cats (not about cats). If you've ever had to deal with a drip or a trickle, you'll understand. Visit her and tell her Linda sent you. Maybe you'll have a "solution" for her.

Her dilemma reminded me of one that I had a couple years ago. Hubby was regrouting the bathroom tile, and redoing the floor, so he rigged up a temporary shower in the basement. He's a real Tim the Tool Man, no really, he is innovative. I am more like Lucy. He hooked a short piece of garden hose and a hand-held shower head to the sink near the washing machine. Then he bought a flimsy, DOLLAR STORE, clear plastic drop cloth and made a circular frame to suspend it from and mounted the showerhead on the frame. We were both proud of his ingenuity.

I went downstairs with my body wash, forgot the scrubby, ran back upstairs. Clomped back downstairs, stripped, and THEN I remembered that I forgot my razor, so I wrapped (most of) myself in a towel and trudged back upstairs. Stomped back to the basement, hung up my towel and kicked off my shoes. Then, I decided I would rather wear shower shoes than stand on the slick, painted, cement floor. Up I hobbled one more time, slipped into my thongs and flip-flopped back down those stairs. I hung up my towel, loaded my scrubby, turned on the faucet ... a trickle of overhead water was just enough to wet that wad of pink netting. I lathered my face and body with so many soap bubbles you couldn't see an embarrassing part of me. Eyes squinched closed, I reached out, but I couldn't find the razor on top of the washing machine. So, I turned that sink faucet on full blast to rinse my face, and the overhead shower head went dry. At that instant, my mind told me something dreadful was wrong. The hose blew and shot a stream of blinding water at my eyes. I screamed, backed up into the cheap plastic drop cloth and it wrapped around me like shrink wrap on a plucked, plump chicken. I twisted and turned and was stuck.I could hear my husband at the top of the stairs shouting, "Don't turn the faucet on full blast."

He ran downstairs when I screamed, "Help!" But he couldn't help me or himself, because he was laughing so hard.

I blasted him for days.