13 Oct / Stranger, danger.
Since I’m now at home all the time (apart from dangerous excursions to the supermarket) my darling has finally clicked that he can take advantage of this in more ways than just me opening the garage door for him before he gets home.
First of all, he demanded this week that I bake him a bacon and egg pie. Demanded! There we were, going around the supermarket for our weekly shop, and he suggested that we buy some bacon, and maybe some eggs, and then I said, maybe I could make you a pie, and he said yes, and we bought the stuff to make the pie.
The level of manipulation was terrible. So terrible that I completely forgot to actually make the damn thing on Saturday or Sunday and I didn’t want to do it Monday because that’s when he has his “healthy meal” even though we actually had pizza, so I had to make it today.
This was made slightly harder as I use a recipe by Jo Seagar and found out today that part of her business going belly-up a few months ago is that nobody is paying her hosting fees any longer and instead of the recipe I had an offer to “buy this domain name.” Because it’s been so successful so far, right?
Luckily I found a cached version of it hidden away, and took the time to write out the information this time, because chances are it won’t be there when I need it next. I know people say that once you’ve put something up on the Internet it’s out there forever, but I’ve searched for the first website that the first company I worked for once had, and it ain’t true folks. Only public embarrassment never fades.
So I was halfway between feeling used and feeling pleased with myself, when the phone rang and my darling announced that he’d called the plumber.
As if I didn’t have enough stuff to be dealing with, I now had to supervise a man while he disabled and enabled our toilet.
My darling went on to say that he’d told them it wasn’t urgent so they’d probably come close to the end of the week, and that they’d give me a call before they came around to make sure someone was home, so that was alright then.
Um. No. It wasn’t.
When I’ve mentioned in the past that I no longer like leaving the house because outside is where they store people, it wasn’t a blanket invitation to turn around and invite people into my home. I have to live here too, okay?
It would be a different story (well no it wouldn’t but lets pretend for a minute) if the toilet was actually in dire need of repair, but all that happens is the overflow pipe tends to overflow more often than it should.
So what? It’s probably making the overflow pipe feel really special that it has a whole lot of work to do when all the other houses overflow pipes are lazing around, sleeping away their days. Our overflow pipe keeps itself nicely moistened, while all the other overflow pipes are bone dry.
What plumber wants to come into a home where the lady of the manor hallucinates the imaginary life of her overflow pipe? It’s a no win situation.
The only good thing I can say is that the plumber unexpectedly called this afternoon, and after a brief game of her asking for the wrong person and me trying to hang up saying you’ve got the wrong number, the mobile plumbing man was dispatched.
I survived. The toilet now has a new something rude beginning with B and something rude beginning with C which should keep things running nicely for the next few years. The plumber even replaced a part that he insisted would mean that next time we could repair it more easily ourselves.
Hah! It’s obvious he’s never met us before. And hopefully never again. The next time something is arranged that entails a home visit I may just stop answering the phone, and the doorbell.