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I shower and dress in old denim shorts and a tank top. By a quick look at the hazy sky, I can tell it’s going to be another hot one. I potter downstairs and set up my laptop. If I’m going to do this, I want to make sure that I know what I’m doing. I’ve watched this video three times already, but just one more time won’t hurt.
OK, so I’ve watched it four more times, just to be sure. Now, with the wrench in one hand, and the washers in the other, I’m determined to do this thing. I face the kitchen sink like a warrior ready for battle.
“All right, faucet. I’ve had just about enough. You’re getting fixed.”
Yeah, thank goodness I live alone.
Putting the washers on the counter nearby, I find the place I need to loosen, and after adjusting the wrench to the size it needs to be, I begin to turn. This isn’t so bad. Once I get this off, I can take the faucet off, replace the washer and the seal, and I’ll have done it. I can add plumber to my long list of accolades.
As I’m turning the nut though, I suddenly feel pressure building up, and before I can stop it, the faucet comes flying off, projected across the counter by the blast of water that is now shooting out the pipe.
“Arrrghhh!” I scream.
I’m completely freaking out as the blast of water shows no sign of slowing down, no matter how hard I press down with both hands.
After all the YouTube viewing, I’d forgotten to turn the damn water off at the mains.
“Oh, crap!” I cry, now soaked to the skin. Beneath my hands, the water squirts out in every direction. It’s spraying against the window and across the counters. I’m totally soaked, and with water in my eyes now, I have to use one hand to wipe my face so I can see.
What do I do?
Speedily playing the YouTube video on fast forward in my head, I remember the crucial element of the process that I had completely missed.
The stopcock. I’ve got to get to the stopcock.
I suddenly have a moment of crisis. I know that I’m going to have to move my hands away from the pipe to be able to get to the stopcock. But, like the genius I am, I haven’t even located it yet, so I have no idea where it might be. Marvelous!
A thick layer of water now lies over the counters, the kitchen floor, and me. My heart is racing, and all I can think of is that face Mr. Shilliday pulled when I told him I was going to do this myself. Great. I’ll be the laughing stock of the town now.
You have more important things to care about, Bree. Like, not flooding your entire house.
Eventually, I make the terrifying decision to take my hands off the pipe. Not that they were doing much good anyway. But if I don’t want to turn my house into an aquarium and me into its display, I need to find the stopcock.
I’m just about to let go, when I hear loud knocking at the front door.
This cannot be happening. Who the heck could this be on a Sunday? Of course, they couldn’t arrive when I’m calmly and peacefully chilling in my perfectly unflooded house.
I know the front door is open, but I sure as heck do not want anyone coming in and finding me in this state. This is a small town. Which means that every single occupant would know what went down here by the end of the day. I’m certain whoever is at the front door will call at another time. Besides, I have more important things on my mind. The water. The flood. The aquarium. Me on display. The stopcock. Where is the darn stopcock?
By the time I find it, I’ll have an ark, not a cottage. Only the flood will be on the inside and not where it’s supposed to be. Outside.
“You know, it’s usually better to put a paddling pool outdoors. I know it’s hot out and all, but…”
I turn to see Jackson standing in the kitchen doorway, a smirk dancing on his lips. My hair is now stuck to the side of my face, I’m soaked through, and the water is still pouring out of the tap. I start to wonder what he’s doing here, but then I immediately spot my purse in his hand.
“You left it at the house yesterday,” Jackson says, seeing me eye the extremely feminine purse in his gigantic manly hand. “But,” he continues, tossing it on the chair in the living area, “I believe we currently have more pressing matters at hand, don’t you think?” He nods to the sink.
That’s the understatement of the year.
