Yesterday I had an adventure, which led to learning about water, pipes, kits, and finding testosterone-laden environments. My bathroom had a slight odor, not the usual odors that linger in a bathroom, but something stronger, so I called a plumber. I thought it was sewer gas, stinky, flammable, and undesirable, but easily fixable. I should be so lucky.
“Yes, Ma’am I found the problem, Ma’am, you’ve gotta a slight case of mold, somewhere. I don’t know where, but I’ll find that little nipper.” A team of mold soldiers moved in bringing sharp instruments and wrenches and fans and all kinds of bio-hazard equipment, making me wonder if WWIII was eminent. They opened the windows and shut the door and they were off to the races. I moved all my necessaries to my second bathroom and piled them on the counters. It is tiny, so they overflowed to the floor, but that would be okay for a couple days.
“How long?” I asked timidly, fearing the answer.
“Two weeks, tops, easy job to remediate the mold, but I don’t know how long the reconstruction will take, maybe two more.” Reconstruction!?
My second bathroom works fine, but when I remodeled last year, I didn’t reinstall towel bars so I needed to go to one of the DIY testosterone tool-stores to buy a few things to help me get through the two weeks, which I already knew would morph into four, and likely six.
As soon as I entered the store, I knew I was in trouble. Men were everywhere, like birds flocking around a bird feeder. I needed a towel rack, simple as pie, I thought, and asked the first aproned clerk I saw where I might find these easy-peasy items and he pointed toward the opposite end of the store, which was okay because I hadn’t reached my 10,000 steps yet and this would add several hundred steps, I thought. Even so, I should be out in ten minutes, tops. I found the towel rack aisle easily enough, which was approximately three quarters of a mile long with every color, size, shape, and material with a lot of men, and lot of tight jeans. I then realized I needed to go to the bathroom, which was on the opposite side of the store, so I trekked back, another few hundred steps, getting closer to my fitness goal, then returned to my towel bar aisle. It was still crowded, all different men this time, but no one with a store apron on, so I armed myself with my Marine stamina and crowded in and smiled at one of the males and asked him for help. He had blue eyes, a silver moustache, and a great smile and he pointed toward a kit. This was a good idea, but then, I would have bought anything he pointed at. Obviously a “kit” meant that everything would be included, like a salad kit includes all the makings. Same thing, I thought.
But kits have a variety of meanings, I learned. In this case, it included two parts that I could install, but not the fasteners, which necessitated another trip. Maybe blue eyes would still be there, making up for my extra time and gas. I’m thinking this might be better than online dating. What do you think?
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