The other day I was meandering through the local hardware store hoping to meet the rich hunky guy o' my dreams when I saw some toilet repair kits, so I stopped. Yes, I did. My house has a constantly gurgling toilet. If it burbled something intelligent, like "Paris is ugly" or "Bosox stink", I'd consider keeping the gurgler, or at least selling it to a good home on eBay, but it babbled nonsense constantly, like the Stepford wife next door.
To me, paying a plumber the equivalent of a pair of Dolce & Gabbana pumps just to mess with my pipes makes no sense at all. He's only going to waste my money on beer, and not even the imported stuff. Like many women, I don't enjoy handing over my paycheck to a guy who can't even keep his pants up properly. That's why I'm divorced.
Anyway - I saw hardware at the Do-it Center, whipped out my credit card, and brought home a lovely 10 inch ballcock. The packaging flaunted '3 easy steps.' The inside was another story - weird nuts, a washer, and an odd metallic thingy. I sighed. Yet another deceptive ballcock.
But unlike in my marriage, this time I would persevere. I shut off the feed line, swapped out the flush valve, screwed on the hex nut, hooked up the tube mahoozit and whammo, I was flush with excitement. Sorry, Mr. Plumber, but you needed to cut back on the Bud anyway. I'm going shoe shopping.
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1 comment:
Good for you dammit!! You make me proud to be a woman!!
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