“Hey, girl, how was your night?”
Aside from that, it wasn’t an overwhelmingly bad day.
Needless to say, it wasn’t a fabulous night. Naturally, it was after 8pm, and I was stoned and naked when it happened. Consequently, I frantically (nakedly) texted Shawshank with details while hauling out all the shit I brought into the bathroom to entertain myself. Methuselah the maintenance man made his way into the crawlspace and turned off the water to the whole house for the night. He fiddled in the bathroom and declared it a BIG JOB™, and left.
We dealt for the night. Since I was a bit worked up at bedtime, I queued up a sleepytime soundtrack to talk me down. Unfortunately, just as I was getting cozy and the relaxation countdown started, my brain realized THERE’S DILDO IN THE SHOWER RACK. From that point, all synapses were focused on the errant shower dick. Should I go move it now so I don’t forget? Can I sneakily send a text to Shawshank reminding me to move it in the morning? WHAT DO I DO???
Well, I certainly didn’t get up, and probably wasted more time worrying about it than it would have taken to just get up and move the damned thing. Instead, I restarted the relaxation, made it a little farther, but it wasn’t vibing with me. I switched to something different and slept.
Our 387 year old handyman made his way back into the crawlspace below the apartment this morning. He briefly turned on the water so we could flush the toilet. He checked out the knob again, and left to buy a part. In the light of day, the BIG JOB™ turned out to be a small job.
Please, let today be less exciting in the house.
