It is almost embarrassing to admit that I’ll be writing my 500th post any day now. After all this time, I’m still reluctant to answer when anyone asks what I write about because, to be honest, I think “poop” might be my No. 1 topic.
Here comes another one.
While some may freak out at the sound of ghoulies and ghosties,
long-leggedy beasties, and things that go bump in the night, my Dearly Beloved and I fear the gurgle of the Pipe Monster.
Imagine this… we are lying in bed, spooning, when we hear something. Glub? Was that a glub?
It comes again, more loudly now, from the shower drain or the toilet… blub…GLUP…BLUP, threatening to regurgitate whatever has gone into the pipes lately. I feel my husband immediately stiffen beside me and I am not talking turn-on.
He jumps up and grabs the flashlight to head out into the front yard and lift the lid of the cutoff valve in the flower bed at the front of the house. If he sees water in there, he hurries inside to call the City Sewer Department. If he doesn’t, we’re sh*t out of luck and have to call a plumber.
The flashlight beam reflects back at him from the water in the valve. WHEW! He makes The Call. Crapbusters are on the way!
Their response time is always amazing. This time, they tell him there is one call ahead of ours and they’ll be here within the hour.
The gurgle in the night sounded this time while the night was still young. DB had been heading for bed early because we were going to visit the grandsons the next morning. He stood at the window and waited for the truck while I tried to recall my most recent BM’s to decide if I had anything to confess. I believe that he thinks I flush bricks.
(Forgive me, Husband, for I have pooped.)
The city’s sewer department may be prompt and efficient, but subtle? Not so much.
The cutoff valve is the measurement by which it is determined who pays to unstop the blockage. If there is water visible in there, it means that the blockage is between the house and the street, probably a tree root growing into the line, and thus the city’s responsibility. If there is no water, then DB’s brick theory rises because the backup must be somewhere under the house. So far, it has always been roots coming from the large oak across the street and thus out of reach of the root kill stuff DB pours into our line periodically.
So Dearly Beloved is standing out in the driveway in his bedroom slippers, watching the guys unroll the snake when two of our neighbors out dog-walking come over to talk. An evening stroller soon joins them. Eventually, a woman driving by stops her car to ask what is happening. All this time, the guys are reeling that snake into the sewer line.
Pure coincidence, I’m sure, that I came upon this scene Friday on the block just downhill of us.
Fast Forward to the beach-house-not-on-the beach, where we’d been for several days. Dearly Beloved had already packed my car for me to head back for my trip to the mountains with my e-mail group. He and Miss Piggy are going to stay at the beach a few more days.
We were sitting in the sunroom, talking about our weekend while I waited for the load of clothes in the washer to finish. Although DB claims he knows how to wash clothes, I am suspicious, since the washer and dryer do not have a POPCORN setting.
Glug…blub… BLUB!!! The terrifying noise was coming from the kitchen sink.
I grabbed my keys and ran, He could dry those clothes in the microwave.