It’s been one of those weeks so far, y’all. And it’s only Wednesday. It started on Friday night, when we accidentally stole a dog, and continued on Sunday when I broke the sink, and then work is killer (shocking!) and then I sat down to write this and realized that I really don’t have a nice cohesive way to tie all of it together. Meh. Here.
On Friday night we stole a dog (as told in an e-mail to my sister, mildly edited for clarity)
We were walking our dog on Friday evening and saw that our neighbor’s Shih Tzu had gotten out of their backyard and was running in the middle of the street, and they weren’t home. But we weren’t 100% positive that it was their dog, so we asked the neighborhood busybody (you know, the one who knows everything about everyone, every street has one) if it was and she wasn’t sure either. ANYWAY, since we had a babysitter coming and didn’t want to deal with it we put the dog in the (alleged) owners’ backyard and ran away, hahahahahahahaha.
But then N looked outside five minutes later and it had gotten out AGAIN (pretty much proving it belonged in that yard since it figured out how to escape so fast), so he went and caught it (much to my annoyance because I wanted to stay out of it at this point, since we were not going to be home and I didn’t want it to be the babysitter’s problem, but as he said, PEOPLE HAVE SEEN US WITH THE DOG. WE ARE ALREADY INVOLVED), and put it in our dog’s crate in the backyard, where it stayed, worrying the hell out of our pets all night, and also ME, because I felt like a Dog Thief. AND THEN HE MOVED THE CRATE INTO MY KITCHEN. AND I WAS MAD, AND HE SAID I WAS BEING A BITCH (WHICH I TOTALLY DESERVED BECAUSE IT WAS VERY TRUE) AND WE HAD A FIGHT. And then all of the bitching was for naught because the dog was incredibly well-behaved all night, and he took it back to the grateful owners the next morning who were very worried and had already put up “missing” signs, and their mentally handicapped son was very glad to see it. The end. So went the Saga of the (Not)Stolen Dog.
And then on Sunday I broke the sink
I seem to have a Useless Superpower, y’all. And that superpower is the ability to break faucet handles simply by touching them. I broke the hot water handle on my bathroom sink like a year ago, and Sunday I broke the one in the kitchen. Our bathroom has two sinks. Our kitchen does not. This poses a problem. N was at the gym and I was trying to feed the kids lunch, and the freaking handle breaks off of my faucet when I touched it. I had my poor tolerant mother on speakerphone when it happened and the conversation went downhill pretty fast:
Mom: So your dad and I were talking and-
Me: GODDAMMIT. GODDDDDDD. DAMMIT. What the-
Mom: WHAT is going on? Are you okay?
Me: FREAKING A.
Mom: Are the kids all right? What?
Me: FREAKING SINK. I JUST BROKE THE FREAKING SINK.
Mom: How did you manage that?
Me: I DON’T KNOOOOOOOOOOOW. THE HANDLE JUST FELL OFF. IN MY HAND. MY HUSBAND IS GOING TO KILL ME.
Mom: Were you forcing it or something?
Me: NO. I BARELY TOUCHED IT, I SWEAR TO GOD.
Mom: Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.
Me: THAT IS NOT HELPING. WHAT DO I DO?!
Mom: Ha ha ha ha! Ha.
Me: I HAVE TO GO.
Mom: Good luck!
So then I posted about it on Facebook and Twitter because I knew N would see it and I wouldn’t have to actually explain. And sure enough, he came home with a look on his face that can only be described as bemusement. I don’t think he buys my story that it JUST HAPPENED, I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING, but I can’t say that I blame him because I wouldn’t believe me either.
And then George entered our lives
So N was going to replace the faucet himself (which had to wait until Monday, because he and AE already had plans to go to Houston on Sunday evening so he didn’t have time and I had to cope), which would have been fine, except the bolt holding it in place was rusted beyond the point of being removed. He tried for half an hour to get that thing off, but no. So I resigned myself to calling a plumber and first thing Tuesday morning I tracked down a coworker who bought a fixer-upper house not too long ago. I knew he’d have a recommendation and sure enough, he did. So I called and they actually were able to get someone over within a few hours. George was on the case.
It didn’t take him long, of course, because he had the proper tool, and within an hour we had running water in the kitchen once more. And then I asked George what I owed him and he goes “Oh, we’ll bill you.” And then I died a little on the inside, because THAT cannot be good. But! Running water! It makes life easier. Yet another reason I’m glad I wasn’t a Pilgrim.
And then work nearly killed me
But it didn’t, so I get to go back tomorrow and do it all over again.
