Look, all sorts of people start hearing voices in troubled times. Think Joan of Arc, all right?
|The magic door|
So I opened the magic door and started turning some knob counterclockwise and water began pouring out. Luckily, I had the vomit bucket nearby (empty, of course) and shoved that under the gusher and proceeded with removing what turned out to be the filter (ta-da!), which I handed to David (my trusty assistant) to clean all the gunk off of.
In short, I fixed it. By myself. DARE TO REPAIR, people.
So, when the water heater went out as payback, I marched into that furnace closet with my new-found handywoman confidence and stared knowingly at the latest miscreant. Pilot light, maybe? After reading the foot-long sticker affixed to the tank which warned me of all the ways I could blow the house up by trying to relight the pilot correctly, I gave up and called the plumber. We all know how handy Larry and I are with pilot lights.
Monday, the plumber said.
|Me, in the shower the past 3 mornings|
Today the plumber came and fixed it. "Thermocoupler, ma'am," he said. "It's all fixed. That'll be $180." Considering that Larry and I had spent 3 days taking freezing cold showers, farming the kids out to neighbor's bathrooms to get clean, and anticipating a $1000 expenditure for a new water heater, I was overjoyed by this news. Hot water! Less than $200! Glory hallelujah!
And THAT, my friends, was my weekend. How was yours?
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