F is for Fiasco

F is for fiasco, faucet fiasco.

It all started last night when Mom went into the downstairs powder room to brush her teeth. I heard an unfamiliar sound and my mother's panicked voice calling, "Mart! Mart come quick! Mart! Mart! I need your help!!!:

A thousand thoughts went through my mind between jumping out of the computer chair and arriving in the kitchen. I had no clue what to expect. James got there before I did, which is probably a good thing, because he is supposed to know what to do in case of emergencies.

The hot water handle on our "not-so-very-old" sink (It was put in 2 1/2 years ago.) had given up and fallen off. Mom says she "didn't even touch it". Water was pouring out where the handle should have been. Without thinking, James put his hand over the hole. The water pressure turned his hand into a sprinkler system, and Mom got her second shower of the night. :)


We finally thought to turn the water off behind the sink, and turned to the chore of moping up one very wet toilet room. Now that it's all over, it's actually kind of funny. :D

This evening there was a different kind of fiasco. I was headed down the back steps with my book and evening cup of decaf, when I misjudged and thought I was at the bottom when I actually had one step left to go. I fell. My glasses went flying, my coffee mug hit the concrete rather abruptly, giving me a shower not so unlike my mother's last night, except that mine was "French vanilla". My "lawn guy", who is really my son Ben, witnessed my fall and came to my rescue carrying a handful of napkins with which to dry my dripping face.  I remained seated until gaining my composure, slightly bruised, but mostly feeling foolish. (Sorry, no photos.)

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