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This day will go down in infamy. At least in my world. I didn't believe in curses but I do now.
The day starts innocuously enough. Just a regular Saturday of errand running, laundry and catching up on other chores that fall by the wayside during the week. As with all other Saturdays at my house, I clean out the frig, dumping any leftovers still lurking inside.
My husband isn't a leftover eater. Or a microwave heater-upper for that matter. Once I went out of town and left a refrigerator full of food for him to warm up or cook while I was gone. Big mistake. I arrived home two weeks later and found the food still in the frig untouched.
"Why didn't you eat any of this food?" I inquired irritated.
"If I open a container and can't figure out what it is, I'm sure not going to put it in my mouth!"
"Of course not, after it's grown legs, arms and morphed into a science experiment," I retort.
So on this particular Saturday, like many Saturdays before, I clean out the refrigerator of any leftovers. But today, unlike previous days, I decide to dump everything into the garbage disposal instead of the garbage can. Another mistake on my part.
As I'm running the water and the disposal my mind, as it often does, drifts off into a reverie when I look down and realize nothing is going down the drain. Not only is it not going down, it is gurgling back up and forming the most gosh-awful cesspool in my sink. It mocks me by swirling in the sink growing larger by the minute. I quickly turn off the water and the disposal. At this moment the fight or flight response kicks in.
I nonchalantly walk out the door to my car and mention in passing to my husband, "Hey, the sink is stopped up. Can you plunge it?" "Sure," he unwittingly replies, "No problem." I then get the hell out of Dodge.
When I return several hours later, I discover my husband devoured up to his waist by the kitchen cabinet, trying his best to undo my mess. From the bowels of the cabinet he asks incredulously, "What in the world did you put down the disposal?" "Just a few leftovers," I reply casually. As he pulls his head out from under the cabinet to look me in the eye, I can tell that he isn't buying my story. I smile sheepishly. "This is a clog of epic proportions, worthy of more than just a passing, 'oh by the way, the sink is clogged,'" he chastises. "Really?" I innocently respond trying to continue my deceit. "It looks like an elephant threw up in the sink. And you wonder why I don't eat leftovers!" I can't argue with him there. At this point, their appeal is lost on me as well.
My husband continues to poke, prod, and churn into the intestines of our plumbing system when he begins pulling out what looks to be an alien appendage. He must pull for a good 5 minutes until the end of the contraption is extracted from the pipes.
Covered in sweat and brown liquid regurgitated from our plumbing, hubby asks me to cut on the water and flip the switch to the garbage disposal. Voila! It's fixed and it only took 3 hours! I'm exhausted just from watching.
Sadly, this isn't the end of the cursed day. No, this is only the beginning.
It hits me at the same moment my husband manages to get out from under the sink. It's hot in the house. Yes, it is a warm day in Texas and I am constantly having hot flashes but this is a different heat. Do I dare mention it to Bob?
"Gosh, it's warm in here."
"You're always hot."
"No, it's definitely hot."
Then the words roll off my tongue and smack Bob right in the gut. "I think the air conditioner is broken."
Bob looks like a man whose dog just died. We investigate and discover that, in fact, the air conditioner is not working as the temperature gauge registers 84 degrees. So after 3 hours of working under the sink, Bob crawls into the 110 degree attic and investigates. Bless him. He spends another 2 hours in the attic working and thinks he has the problem resolved. But by morning it's apparent that his fix was only temporary.
To add salt to the wound, it's a holiday weekend so we make the tough decision to wait until Tuesday to call in the big guns, the real repairmen, in order to avoid exorbitant holiday rates.
Tuesday finally rolls around and while I'm at lunch with my husband, he gets the call. This is the face of a man who has just been told that we need a completely new air conditioning system.
And as all good curses go, we're told they can't install the new unit for another 2 weeks. Then the universe decides to join in the torture. The weather up until this point has been pleasantly mild. But now the temperature begins to rise. And rise. And rise. Along with the humidity. Despite having every ceiling fan on in the house along with several portable fans, we are sweltering. It gets so bad that I resort to getting ready for work in the dark so that the heat from the bathroom light bulbs don't add to our misery. Did you know that it is virtually impossible to dry and style your hair in stifling heat and humidity? Trust me on this one. Imagine my shock when on several mornings I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the office elevators and find that I look like Stevie Wonder dressed me, Alice Cooper did my make-up and Rosanne Rosannadanna fixed my hair. I am, as they say, a "hot mess." Literally. Hot. Mess.
The day arrives for the installation of the new unit. I want to dance naked throughout the house but fear this would traumatize the repairmen and they won't finish the job so I abstain. They work all day and at last flip the switch as we hold our breath. We hear a low hum then feel cool air emanating from the vents. Success! We rejoice until it comes time to pay and we fork over enough money for a down-payment on a new house. But it's worth it because you really don't know what you've got until its gone. And that includes curses.
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