Not, in fact, my "Daddy"This weekend, The Boyfriend and I lived through what I have dubbed The Great Plumbing Debacle of 2010.  Saturday afternoon, I walked into my bedroom to see a silent puddle spreading from underneath the wall by the bathroom, as well as underneath the door of the bathroom into the hall.

As I began shrieking like my panties were on fire (not to be confused with that one time they actually were on fire.  I might have been telling a falsehood at the time.  Who knows?), The Boyfriend--who was in the shower--began shrieking that dark blue, cold water was coming up through the drain and over his almost-clean feet.  He slammed the water off while I ran to the laundry room to shut off the washer, which had just begun draining.

Awesome.

As we began using every available towel and mop to sop up the mess, I called our landlord who said, with a chuckle, "Oh yeah, I'm actually next door right now because they're having the same problem."

Oh, wow, thank you!  A heads up about a plumbing problem in a DUPLEX might have been helpful, but you know, whatever.

(At this point, I will begin alternating verb tenses as I see fit.  Just so you know...)

Anyway, Landlord sends a Plumber over, who is none to happy to be at Casa de Redhead on a Saturday evening.  We try to explain the enormity of the problem (Water under the walls!  Water on the floor!  Water near the bed!), but he just waves us off and mumbles that it's probably a tree root in the line.  Great, fine, whatever, fix it.

Not more than ten minutes later, Plumber says it's finished.Typical dude move on a boat or bar.

I insist that the problem seemed more than a ten minute job, and it seemed to be an issue when the washer was draining.

No, no, he had taken care of it.

I assured him that I thought this news was dubious.

Oh no, it is fine, and it is Saturday and it is fixed, okay lady?

He left the house and we tentatively turned the washer back on.  Everything seemed ok.  The Boyfriend tentatively stepped back in the shower.  Everthing seemed...

OH DEAR GOD, THE TITANIC IS SINKING.  I'M THE KING OF THE WORLD!  I'M THE KING OF THE WORLD!  STAY WITH ME, JACK!

I call the landlord and leave a message for him to send Mr. Plumber back over, because obviously, how you say, "House still broken."  No response.

The Boyfriend leaves voicemail.  No response.  Sends e-mail.  No response.  Sends text.  No response. 

Orchestra begins playing "Nearer My God To Thee."

Damp towels lay like...gross damp toilet water towels all over the place.  Went to bed, fuming, afraid to use toilet.  Had to pee.  Bad.

Wow, "Titanic Adventure Slide". That seems like a GREAT idea.At 11:30 THE NEXT MORNING, Landlord calls and says brightly, "Plumber is on the way!" as if he had done us a great favor, and had not, in fact, put us through the emotional equivalent of, "Oh, don't worry, we won't need that many life boats!  Everything is fine on this grand ship!" and then watched as we pushed our way past women and children to the last remaining vessel.

Plumber gets there and proceeds to immediately flood bathroom...again.  He admits, as if he has just discovered this fact, "Must be more complicated than I thought."

Brings up smelly shop vac to get up water.  Tells me he must do something called "pulling the toilet" and that I may want to remove my white bathrobe to "avoid any splatter". 

Err...

As I sit in the other room, I hear Mr. Plumber "working hard", meaning:  lots of grunting, banging and clanging, and talking to oneself.  Like, a lot of talking to oneself. 

Just when I think I cannot handle the smell, the stress, or the morning any longer (I had not had any coffee yet, and my house smelled like the back end of a dead hobo), I hear this phrase from the bathroom:

"Oh yeah, that's what Daddy's talkin' about," followed by more banging and clanging and then silence.

I couldn't tell if it was either the funniest or the creepiest line I'd ever heard.  Ew, ew, ew.  I think it's gross when dudes call themselves "Daddy" to begin with...but a dude elbow deep in a toilet, saying it in a super-grunty voice?

I felt dirty.

All that to say, the problem was indeed fixed this time, but my mind was broken forever.  So, dear Dudes, please stop calling yourself "Daddy".  It's a term forever tainted by the fact that a) I have a father already, thanks and b) I heard it uttered over a giant toilet clog. 

Sincerely,

TNR