My laundry room sink was leaking back in September. Early September. I asked Birdy to take a look at it.
I know, I know, he's "a carpenter not a plumber." I get this. But, the last time I attempted to mess with plumbing was to fetch a diamond earring. I got the earring, but Birdy spent the entire evening working on pipes while I ran back and forth to the hardware store.
I am no longer allowed to go near the pipes.
I mopped up the water mess in the bottom of my cabinet and went about waiting for my husband to check out the situation.
A few days later, I came up with a "gentle reminder." I have to give "gentle reminders" or I get the "I'm a carpenter, not a plumber lecture."
"Honey, did you figure out where my leak is in the laundry room?"
"I didn't find a leak," Birdy responded.
"Really? I could've sworn there was water in the bottom of the cabinet."
"I didn't find any water."
It was then that I knew. He is a carpenter not a plumber. "Bird, did you turn on the faucet?"
"No."
Really???
"Well, honey, it's in the pipes, not the faucet, so when you look at it again(gentle suggestion), turn the water on & it will probably leak for you, too."
I went back in the house to give him a chance to ponder that statement.
He pondered it all right. He pondered it until yesterday--October 23--when I said, "Honey, my laundry roon sink still leaks."
Normally, this leak would've lasted until March, when all things huntable are no longer huntable. However, as luck would have it for my husband, he wasn't sitting in a tree. Mother Nature is ruining Birdy's hunting season with hot weather.
I was further astounded when Birdy immediately got up, grabbed a flashlight, and proceeded into the laundry room.
I can count on one hand how many times he has been in the laundry room since he hooked up my appliances five years ago...
After a few moments, Birdy announces he has found the issue and needs some "pipe dope." Not weed. Some sticky stuff that's water tight. It gives a tight seal and doesn't leak.
I dig around, unable to locate anything. I suggest he call my father who has EVERYTHING.
Except "pipe dope."
Tonight, after my class and The Family Homework Session, I ask Birdy:
"Is the sink ready or does it need to set-up for 24 hours?"
"It's ready."
Wow.
I wander into my laundry room and notice one of my favorite Fall Dish Towels is wadded up on the counter. I pull it apart and look at it. It's wet and it's covered with Pipe Dope.
Really?
I just went through all my holiday decorations a few weeks ago, and I decided to keep those towels for a reason--I liked them. Alot. Yes, I've had them for seven years, but they're cute. They had corduroy pumpkins on them. It was one towel of a matched set.
With Pipe Dope on one corduroy pumpkin towel.
No longer part of a matched set.
I holler out to the garage and ask, "Is this pipe dope on my towel?"
"Probably." Heaven forbid he commit with his response..."Why????"
"Does it come out????"
"I don't know! But, hey, YOUR LEAK IS FIXED."
I shake my head and go back to laundry. I love him but he's such a mess. I'm a cleaning lady, we don't lack for crummy rags around this joint. Seriously.
As the evening wears on, I wander back out to the garage to watch the World Series with my husband who is still slightly honked-off about fixing a leak and ruining a towel in the process. I'm past it, but he isn't...yet.
Anyhow, I'm kinda leanin' towards Texas. I like the uniforms and that young feller that pitched last night did such a fine job. I think his name is Derek. I don't recall his last name. It could never matter that it was printed on his back allllllll night long....I really only pay attention to the games Dusty plays. I love to watch Dusty play baseball.
I've been watching Dusty play baseball for about five years now. You'd think I'd have the game dialed-in at this point in my life, but I don't.
"Was that a ball?" I ask Birdy.
"Yes." Sigh.
"He was out, why didn't they call him out?"
"I don't know." Sigh.
Most men would love it if their wives watched sports with them, but I don't think Birdy really enjoys me watching sports with him.
Baseball anyway.
I make it a point not to watch sports on TV.
Especially not football. I'd consider watching golf before I'd watch football.
Unless Dusty wants to play football, then I'll watch.
Anyhow, back to the game...I'm watching the game, watching the pitcher and the catcher communicate. It's cute to watch the little kids do that. They laugh at each other. But not the big boys. They're serious. They're focused. I mean, it's the World Series, they ought to be serious. And focused.
"What are they saying to each other?"
"Who?" Birdy asks.
"The pitcher and the catcher."
Birdy shakes his head. "I don't know."
"Are they picking pitches?"
"Probably, or maybe he's asking the pitcher what he wants for breakfast. Or what he wants for dinner...."
"Or if he thinks this pipe dope will come out of this cute, festive fall dish towel???"
And Birdy laughs.
"You're so lucky. You are SO lucky. You got me!!! And I'm alllll girl...I'm YOUR girl!!!!"
Bird's Girl....
