WEEPING TOILET

Apartment living is freeing to my soul because I have no responsibility for maintenance.  (Make a note that this does not mean I’m irresponsible.)  

Before we moved, I paid a handyman to fix the toilet.  He replaced the flapper.  Didn’t work.  So I hired a real plumber.  He explained to me that the toilet was “weeping,” which meant it was dripping slowly, and you’d hear it fill up at odd times for no apparent reason.  (And all this time I thought we had haints.)   He replaced the sealant ring and all was well, except that my wallet was now weeping.

Next I needed a new ballast for one of my fluorescent lights.  (My son was real impressed that I knew that word “ballast.”)  My handyman fixed it by replacing the bulbs.  I knew that wouldn’t work, but he said it might, and I said we’d see about that.  Yep.  He had to return to replace the ballast.

When we moved into the apartment, I looked for something that needed fixing just so I could call maintenance and watch someone fix something for free.  Can you believe it?  There was a weeping toilet and a light that needed a new ballast.  The maintenance man replaced the fluorescent bulbs and the toilet flapper.  He said he’d come back if that didn’t work.  I looked at him and didn’t say a thing. 

Not my problem any more.  They can come back as much as they want.  I don’t have to pay for it.  I don’t have to schedule it.  I don’t even have to be here.  And they’ll eventually get it right. 

MOJO MAKES A STATEMENT

The night we had Bible Study at our new apartment, Mojo did his usual.  He walked up to his guests to greet them and possibly let them touch him if he was so inclined.  Then he retreated.

About an hour into the meeting, Mojo reappeared and walked across the middle of the living room.  No one stopped the discussion, but everyone watched him.  He allowed a couple of people to touch him.  Then he left.

I didn’t see Mojo again until I was opening a bag of chips.  He made his way through the crowd and into the kitchen.  Then what to my wondering eyes did appear but a Mojo cat – leaping from the top of the counter to the top of the refrigerator to the top of the upper cabinets.  Then he peered down at us all.  I guess he got the last word - probably, “Get these intruders out of my house!” or words to that effect.

COFFEE GROUNDS

Now and again I lose my temper.  Not anything important.  Just little things.  Like the coffee grounds.

I took the holder off the coffee pot – you know, it’s the thing that contains the filter bag full of old but still wet coffee grounds.  I dumped most of it into the trash can, but some fell over the edge.  They smeared down the inside of my clean trash bag and down the outside of my trash can and it just pissed me off, and I grabbed the trash bag out of the trash can and wadded it up in a huff.  That gesture sent coffee grounds flying.  I yanked the trash can out and held it up to the sink and sprayed water all over it, splashing it all over me, the sink, and the floor, knowing full well I had to clean it up but having such a rush of anger-release that I didn’t care.  Then I slammed it upside down on the no-longer-clean kitchen counter to drain.  I grabbed the dish towel and began wiping up the floor but that towel was nowhere near big enough. I pitched it at the sink and pulled a boat load of paper towels down for the job.  After I cleaned the floor around the sink area and released some unladylike words, I wiped the water off the inside and outside of the trash can, then turned around and saw the wet paper coffee filter itself, and coffee grounds, on the floor behind me.  Must have slung it out during the trash bag frenzy. 

I finally calmed down and just cleaned it all up.  Felt a lot better, too.

Shelf’s Up!

Our son Fred began to mount the shelf under our TV.  He drilled some holes.  They were too small.  Instead of changing the drill bit, he rolled the drill around to make bigger holes.  He had said this job would be a cinch, but this short cut seemed to me to be a bad omen.  When he pushed the anchors into the big holes, I said, “They went in too easy.”  He said it would be OK. 

Remembering that I had purchased a wonderful battery powered screwdriver, I left the room to look for it.  I returned to find Fred removing the loose anchors he had just put in.  He was sweating.  It must have been a male hot flash brought on by intense frustration. 

I decided to get out of his way, so I searched the apartment again for my wonderful battery powered screwdriver.  My husband did his usual (does he really think he’s helping?) and asked where I was the last time I used it.  Fred’s girlfriend Amy looked at me knowingly, and we launched into a discussion about how helpful it truly would be if you could remember where you last used something you’re looking for, and how ridiculous that sounds to women.  I won’t tell you what Fred said.

I made another loop around the apartment looking for the wonderful new battery powered screw driver – not that it had anything to do with anything any more. 

Poor Fred.  He had to take the shelf down and put it up again, but, bless his heart, he got it done.  It looks great, too.  What would I do without my wonderful son?!  We toasted the shelf over hot dogs at Andy’s.

STUDFINDER

Our son Fred came over to mount the TV on the wall.  I said we’d better make sure there wasn’t a stud where the screws were going to go.  He said that wouldn’t matter; he would just drill into it if need be.  He changed his mind when I showed him the three-inch screws.

I brought him my stud finder.  Fred had never seen a little tiny magnetic stud finder.  He watched politely as I showed him how to use this girly gadget.  Ten minutes later, the TV was perfectly mounted and the studs were avoided.

Next was a wall shelf to hold the cable box.  I asked Fred why the shelf base had so many holes in it and he said probably to allow you to avoid studs.  Not sure if that was sarcasm or humor.