This is how the conversation started with my husband, who was at home with the appliance installation team.
We had purchased a new set of appliances, washer, drier, fridge and stove. We felt we had done a great job, there were no arguments in the store or afterwards about which models we were buying. He got to select the washer and drier, after all, he does the laundry week in and week out. He selected the fridge because that is a 'guy thing', or so he insisted. I selected the stove because it has a beautiful blue oven. There, that was easy!
We arranged for the appliances to be delivered and installed and as a free service they cart away the old stuff. A piece of cake - or so you would think.
I understand, from second hand information that there was a challenge getting the fridge in through the kitchen door so they came in through the front door. Problem solved. The fridge and stove went were installed smoothly after that.
They had to disconnect the old washer and take it out. Apparently, at this point my husband left the guys to do their job and went upstairs. From all accounts, the next thing he heard was yelling and the guys were calling him. He bounds down the steps at full speed to find water gushing from the washer tap into the kitchen and dining room. He dashes outside to turn off the water supply to the house. That accomplished, he calls me to get the plumber's number to fix the situation.
I decided I would call the plumber myself, maybe he would respond faster hearing a desperate woman crying on the phone. The ploy worked, he was at my house in less than half an hour - can you believe it?
When I called to check on progress, I didn't get a lot of information from my husband, not a good sign. I then called the plumber but because he was standing in my house, in an inch of water, he wasn't talking a whole lot either.
I finally get home that afternoon with three types of mops, because I was assured each was for a different function. I sat in the car for a few minutes to brace myself for the disaster that awaited me in the house. Water was all over the place, furniture had been moved into the front room and a heater was in the middle of the floor. I can only guess that my husband decided that would be the fastest way to dry the floor without a working mop.
I turned off the heater, took out some towels (at this point my husband said, I'm off duty now, you can take over, and retreated to his man cave.) I surveyed the damage and fighting back the screams started working. I had the mess cleared up in about 15 minutes and turned on the fan to dry the rest.
I didn't mention the huge hole in the wall where the tap for the washer used to be. Apparently the installers broke the tap and the plumber had to break into the wall to get to the pipe. I shudder to think about this.
Anyway, as we rested for the night, I thought to myself, it could have been worse. I'm not sure how, but I'm sure it could have been worse.
I awake the next morning and trudge down to the kitchen to make coffee - as is my routine every morning. As I walk into the kitchen, my slippers are immediately soaked. I look down and see there is a huge puddle of water near the fridge. A few expletives escape and I rush to find the towels and the mops and the bucket. I start cleaning up the water and realize it is coming from the water connector to the fridge. As soon as it is a reasonable time I call the plumber. He insists he will be there shortly - I should leave the key in a safe and obvious (but not too obvious) spot.
When we return home that evening all is dry and the fridge is working perfectly.
Later that night, as I am washing dishes and notice there is water on the floor near the sink. I am thinking to myself, I can't believe I did this while washing dishes. So I open the cupboard and lo and behold, everything under there is soaked. I pull out the junk that is stored under the sink and try to find the leak, it is coming from the pipe.
I call the plumber, at this point, I'm thinking of proposing to him so he can legally move in with us. He assures me he will be there in the morning, place a bucket under the sink and just leave the key ... yeah, yeah I know the drill.
As we rest for the night, I think to myself, it could have been worse. I'm not sure how ...
I awake the next morning half expecting to find the kitchen flooded, it was just as I left it.
I came home that night, it had rained heavily during the day, and I thought to myself, the plumber probably didn't make it. To my surprise, he had been, worked his magic and left.
I am thinking to myself, surely this is the end of the flooding at my house. So I go up to my bedroom and start changing out of my suit and notice there is water on the floor near the window, surely leaving the window open that tiny crack couldn't have let that much water in that it flooded in my bedroom. I stand there staring at the water on the floor trying to decide if I should run for the towels, the mop, the bucket and the fan or should I scream or just climb into bed.
I called Mark and showed him the water. He just shook his head and headed back to the man cave.
As I cleaned up the water - of which I have now become an expert - I said to myself, it could have been worse. I'm not sure how but I'm sure it could have been worse.