Adventures in plumbing, or how to know she really cares

No Fiction for Your Friday this week, but in this case I think you'll find fact is far funnier than fiction:

I am not butch. Androgynous maybe, but butch not so much. I like shoes and cosmetics way too much to be a self-respecting butch lesbian. I am, however, that lesbian who feels empowered enough to try and fix the stuff that breaks around my house.

And as we all know, Harriet Homeowner always lands herself in hot water.

I am, of course, referring to the incident all those who know me refer to as “The Great Toilet Paper Caper.” For those of you new to my world, the story goes something to the effect of: I got it in my head I was going to change the toilet paper holder in our bathroom. I purchased the new hardware, got my tools and sauntered into the bathroom to be Ms. Fix It.

I got fixed all right … right between the cabinet and the commode. I had to lie on my back to get at the old hardware and through arduous torques on the screwdriver, wedged myself in. Of course, I did what any confident, independent woman would do in a situation like this. I freaked the fuck out.

The girlfriend was on the job in Joplin, not due home for several hours. My cell phone was precisely out of reach on the cabinet above me. Just as I was about to have a thermonuclear meltdown, the Hamdog wandered in and started licking my bare foot. It tickled. A lot. Which resulted in squirming, squirming to a degree I was able to wriggle free.

I solemnly swore not to undertake anymore bathroom projects. Even to the effect of studiously ignoring the fact that the hall bath toilet had started to run longer than it should when flushed. Basically, every third time it gets used, the lid has to come off the cistern and the ball has to be manually lifted.

I wake promptly at 4:45 a.m. every day to get the pooch’s food together, give him his shot and get myself ready in time to be at the job by 6:00 a.m. Needless to say, I’m less than alert at that time. This morning was no different other than the girlfriend was feeling a little puny and I wanted to let her sleep a little longer. After all, this is the woman who bakes me chocolate cake when I’m a crabby, premenstrual mess. She is to be kept happy.

So I was trying to be quiet. TRYING operative word.

I slipped into the hall bath, home of the runny toilet, to take care of some business in hopes of staying quiet. I then proceeded to go into our room to take a shower in the master bath. ( Why I thought it would be quieter to pee in one room and then shower in the room where she was sleeping is beyond me, but see above: not terribly alert.)

When I got out of the shower I could still hear the other toilet running.

“Well hell,” I said under my breath and walked briskly out, towel wrapped around me. I noticed the girlfriend was still sleeping. As I rounded the corner and heard water splashing on the floor, all pretense of being quiet left me.

I’m told I made a sound roughly like a wounded, off-key banshee as I saw over an inch of water running onto the bathroom floor and out into the hallway. The sound propelled the girlfriend out of bed. She later told me the one thought running through her head was, “Someone better be dead for this much damn racket.”

Sick, bleary-eyed and startled, I don’t think she was quite prepared for the naked, yelling maniac trying to sop up buckets of water with nothing but a pale lavender towel. But after living with me all this time, she’s become used to the roller coaster ride that is me pre-coffee.

“Just go finish getting ready. You have to go to work,” she said calmly.

Because one of the other things she’s learned being with me is the best way to stop a full on freak out is to get me distracted. Work was a buzzword for me this morning. My annual review was today.

Like a robot following a command, I abruptly turned and went right back to our bathroom to finish getting ready.

And this is one of the billion reasons I love this woman. Even ill and hardly conscious, she’s able to manage my insanity. If I could have her sainted, I surely would. But in the meantime, I think I’ll fix that toilet. Alert the authorities.