My peeps, I gotta tell you: that game last night nearly killed me. Fortunately for the blog posting schedule, I knew ahead of time it would be that way, so here’s a little guest post from Mr. Andi. War Eagle, anyway!
The transition from single guy to married guy with a house and step-pets brought challenges. Aside from pets ‘discarding’ rubber bands through orifices which the rubber band did not enter, there were other difficulties: figuring out who puts what where, who sleeps on which side of the bed, the bathroom dilemma and how to decorate the new residence.
As a new husband and possibly a new homeowner, you need to be able to adapt to a variety of potentially new experiences. If you consider yourself handy, this should not be a problem. Per Andi, my mantra has always been ” If I can buy the parts at Home Depot, I can do it”, no matter what the project was, with one exception.
I work in the electrical field and a lot of us are amazed that so many people fear electricity. We aren’t afraid to put gloves on and handle 12,000 volts – at heights above 50 feet. But there’s one thing that we may not fear, but we dread: plumbing. I frequently tell the guys at work that want to look down on the sewer department “Hey, be glad that they are there, we all want the toilet to flush!”
Plumbing is the worst.
Early on in our married life, Andi and I bought our first house in a section of town built right after WWII. It housed the “newlyweds and nearly deads” – we were the former; our neighbor that never spoke to us but watched us through her window was the latter. We got a labrador retriever, like newlyweds often do, and during a hard freeze we kept her in our tiny outdoor laundry room overnight with a light on to keep her warm.
She was alive and well the next morning. Unfortunately, our 1940s-era copper pipe was not. It had frozen and then leaked when the weather warmed up enough to thaw the ice. Six frustrating hours and several trips to ‘vintage’ hardware stores later it was fixed. I learned that day that plumbers are not keen on uniformity and logic. In that same house, my theory was later confirmed and expanded to include cabinet makers when l had to replace the wax ring on a commode and then the vanity that the subsequent ‘water’ leak caused. That’s a story for another day and the weekend I knew our honeymoon was over.
Our next house was only five years old, so I thought my plumbing problems were over. We had moved up a little bit in the world – we even had a disposal. Several marital imbroglios ensued over the intended use of a disposal including one over the use of shrimp peelings and their unsuitability for the likes of a disposal. Much plumbing exercise and swearing ensued and there was wailing and gnashing of teeth. Ultimately, our marriage survived. However, my confidence in disposals was damaged and led to outright paranoia and perhaps a diagnosable condition.
The mere mention of the disposal causes me to twitch.
A couple of weeks ago, I took a leap of faith and shoved sweet potato peels that Andi had put in the sink down the disposal. I was confident. I was in the fourteen year lull, in another house with a disposal that had always treated me well. The disposal clogged, and I found myself under the sink taking apart pipes for the mess I had caused.
Andi’s mom and stepdad came here for Christmas and her mom made deviled eggs for me. With the sweet potato incident fresh in mind, I spotted the eggshells in the sink. “Hell No,” I thought and studiously removed them. I’ve got this figured out, because I am now a plumbing – and disposal – expert.
Then one night last week, I was cleaning up the kitchen because that’s our arrangement – Andi cooks dinner, I clean up. I was rinsing, scraping and loading the dishwasher and I go to rinse out the sink. I run the water and it starts backing up.
I turn on the disposal and no water is leaving, it continues to back up. I Immediately lament the fact that I will be taking apart plumbing pipes at 6:30 pm again (read: cussing a blue streak). My darling wife offers to come help, to which I throw my hands up in the air and proclaim “THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO!!” As good wives do, she comes anyway. She reached in and found the rubber drain stop was turned upside down in the drain and just simply pulled it out. In three seconds, she had the drain unclogged and the water went down, no “expert” plumber needed.
Did I mention I hate disposals and plumbing in general? Give me thousands of volts any day.