Scene yesterday morning:
I am in my jammies enjoying a cup of coffee and watching the younger Monkeys color at the table. It is relatively calm with only a few random arguments over the whereabouts of certain crayons or who has had a longer turn with the one remaining colored pencil. Ahhh.... vague peace. And then there is a knock on the door. Craaaaaap.......
The guy is here to fix the tub. I totally forgot he was coming. After a brief back-and-forth conversation in my head about possibly maybe just ignoring the door I come to the conclusion that I live in a townhouse and this is the maintenance staff. If I don't open the door they are going to come in anyway. Craaaaaap......
So I answer the door. Jammies and bedhead, coffee in hand. And there is Tub Guy who immediately starts laughing. Okay, I will give him that I am standing there in plaid flannel boxers and my ancient BGSU sweatshirt. And did I mention the full-on bedhead? I don't get movie bedhead where there is possibly a strand or two perfectly mussed. I get crazy person bedhead where it looks like I have actually electrocuted myself and/or may be starting a crop of dreads or maybe a wild mouse habitat. So while I will give him all of this, it still is a blow to my fragile morning ego. I make him stand there in the doorway while I run upstairs to gather the damp towels and stray underwear discarded before the family's morning showers (well, from everyone except me- double crap) and kick the pile of undone laundry out of the way and close the bedroom door (because it looks like the rest of the house threw up its junk in that room).
I listen to him work for a while fixing the hole (yes, hole) that had appeared where the silver overflow thingy had been. I was unaware that a bathtub could get a hole in it. And even less aware that it could be fixed. He calls in reinforcements and two other maintenance guys show up- Jovial Guy and The IT Kid. Seriously. I wonder if it is Bring Your Computer Dork Teenager To Work Day. He has those black-frame rectangle glasses and a goatee and carries the clipboard. Go figure. I hear the word "hacksaw" being casually thrown about. I am nervous. I wonder if they are possibly turning my tub into a wonderful watery sculpture- and if IT Kid had to get a permission slip from his mom to use such a dangerous tool.
They wrap things up and I am given this warning from Tub Guy: "Don't get this wet. AT ALL. I will be back in the morning to finish." (As he shows me a hole in the tub that looks suspiciously the same, only with some gray putty stuff around the edges. Hacksaw?) No shower for me. This is tragic. Showers and coffee are survival tools for me. And I am being told there is no wonderfully heated water or jasmine scented shampoo in my future today. I am gonna have to make it with one out of two survival requirements today. Craaaaap.....
Which brings us to the scene this morning:
Nine in the morning. I have gotten a HUGE cup of coffee while out taking my oldest to school (seeing as I was all out of coffee in the house). I am standing in my bathroom, vaguely dressed and sporting the towel turban, frantically wiping the water-splatter evidence of my illicit shower off the tiles with a Spiderman beach towel when the following things happen simultaneously:
1. There is a knock on the door from Tub Guy. Damn. He is going to send me to Plumber Jail for unauthorized bathing.
2. The four-year-old yells "Oh no!" and I walk into the kitchen and see this scene
The untimely demise of coffee in its prime.
Damn. One out of two again.
*Note: Four-year-old coffee bandit was unharmed in coffee disaster. My coffee-addicted soul, however..... scarred. Also, Tub Guy reduced my Plumber Jail sentence to time served in light of the agony of the above tragedy and the hard labor required to remove 22 ounces of sugared beverage from a kitchen floor.