Perils of an unblocked bathtub.

The concierge, who is our bathtub plunging knight in shining armour; sorry love, you’re good, but he…my god, he managed to unclog our drain in forty-five minutes! A drain, I must add, that was clogged for a month. A month! Yes that would be 31 days and if you really want to be a stickler 31 days and some odd hours. A drain that stayed clogged no matter how much Draino we poured down its unwilling pipes. A drain that stayed blocked no matter how much you or I spent in attendance, on hands and knees, bent over groaning as we diligently pumped and pushed a rather frazzled plunger. But, last night, after only forty-five minutes, our bunged up duct was freed allowing the water to slosh in its carefree way down a drain that had for a month titillated it with evil impish glee.

This morning however, after having gotten used to water that rose with every drip of the showerhead, I waited for the water to rise to my ankles. My sign that it is time to vacant the porcelain white enclosure and face the rest of the world. Ten minutes past, that water stayed low. Fifteen minutes my toes are still in the air. Twenty minutes when I realized that that the drain, finally clear, was sucking down with great gusto my signal to leave. Late and late to work, the only explanation I could give was that my water signal had gone all decoct and that I had dallied a little too long getting ready in the morning.

The moral, my friends, is to never depend on a system that might one day be set free.