Last Tuesday started out like any other: 7:00 a.m. up and ready to start the diet (again), coffee and work. I was out and about talking up Home Healthcare to many uninterested people when the phone rang with the sound of barking dogs (Gee thanks, hubs for setting that as your ring tone and testing my continence weekly). He sounded breathless, overwhelmed and upset. He got out something about the toilet and water everywhere and to come home quick. I sped home to find the place just soaked. Hubs was splashing around with a broken wet vac, and the dog was Happy, Happy, Happy splashing in the house, doing summersalts and basically showing his ass. The teens arrived home from school, took one look and immediately left for higher ground at friends houses. There we were….wet. The voice in my head screamed, “Save the shabby chic! Save the shabby chic!” Obediently I tossed my ass around like Judy Jetson pushing all of the hundred year old chippy furniture around to drier venues while the husband rescued his 47 polyester promotional tote bags. It seems as though our toilet tank suffered a spontaneous crack (yep, such a thing, I Googled it). It’s not fun, I don’t reccomend it. As I called the insurance company I saw my favorite shoe floart by as if to say goodbye and it’s been real.
The “Catastrophe Team” arrived in big trucks with powerful extraction equipment, 20 industrial fans and dehumidifiers. I could tell that this was gonna be great AND suck at the same time. 6 hours later we had our hoard moved to dry rooms and the machinery going. (Did I mention the workman slipped in the master closet and grabbed the rack for balance, pulled it down with 18 loads of laundry now to do right into the water beneath? Were they here to end a situation or start one? I heard him and the closet go down, peeked in and just sat in the water and prayed to Jesus to transport me 2 weeks into the future. I worked all night making some sort of camp while the family slept and the machinery roared. I dried out the toilet and got it ready for the plummer to remove and replace and threatened everyone to stay out of that potty! Two days later the husband walked right in and peed in it. He came out to confess while I scolded him. He promised he would get it all out and clean it. He did not.
The insurance adjuster came to visit (fight with us). He said that we should change those water lines every 6 months and that the carpet in the master would be dried out, restretched and reinstalled because it was a clean water spill. (He even said that the “water in the tank was clean, you can drink it!” I offered him a glass…he said no. Imagine. I pictured all Americans changing those lines every 6 months and laughed and laughed. I mean seriously, I have seen 1950’s pink and green toilets finally removed for renovation purposes but mine can’t last 5 years? He asked it we had felt it rock. Like my favorite place to set a spell and rock is the commode…geez. If I had felt it rock I would have had it addressed, I mean hell, do I want my husbands 47 nylon promotional tote bags to be ruined just for the fun of rocking on the toilet?!?!?!
Back to the now peed in toilet and the broken promise of cleaning… Time passed and I was preparing for the plummer to install the new toilet so I rolled up my sleeves, armed with a turkey baster and a cool-whip tub and I emptied the toilet (again) and gagged and plotted revenge.I did see the maid (played by Kathy Bates) make a lovely soup on American Horror Story Coven last week…… that would be one way to go. I guess the fact that the flood sent hundreds of craft straight pins into the carpet that hubs found with his bare feet was revenge enough…for now.