Suspecting you have a plumbing problem can take a while to sink into consciousness, particularly when it involves the sink. Or to be more precise, what's going on under the sink.
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Indeed realising there might be an issue can unleash the seven stages of grief.
Denial and Dissociation, that you want life to be as it was before you suspected you had a leak.
Acceptance of the facts that you're in denial and then refusal to do anything about it, because you're in denial, and also not very handy.
Bewilderment. Anger. Scapegoating. Bargaining. Despair. Depression. All those old friends. And then back to Bewilderment, before finally Acceptance.
Seems like a few more than seven stages, actually. But let's face it, the plumbing journey can be a real auction of emotions once the bidding gets going.
Anyhow, sold! That sure looked like a puddle near the dishwasher the other day.
Possibly explainable in terms of someone unpacking in a robust fashion and splashing something. Possibly a little white cloud had entered the kitchen overnight and cried, for a hug.
Hard to say at that stage, but definitely a worry, with a trail of moisture leading towards a dark psycho-social space where the rubber gloves lurk.
Now they say the standard you're prepared to walk past is the standard you're prepared to accept. And that standard is pretty negotiable working from home during Covid. Particularly when you're negotiating with yourself.
You can bargain harder than the Chinese government when it comes to doing nothing, even though plumbing issues can be pretty compelling.
So I continued on where ever I was going in the house and sooner or later turned around and came back again. At which point I nearly slipped in that expanding puddle, suggesting it was time to have a look.
Now if' you've ever seen the Alien movies, you'll know the trepidation at play.
On this occasion, add dankness to the mix, and the fear members of the search party were being picked off by a monster and mummified alive to the hot and cold water taps.
Actually there was no crew, just water everywhere and the realisation I was one step closer to calling a plumber.
True horror started to dawn, but this is where triumph over adversity came into play. I kept my head just long enough to soak everything up with a towel, including my forehead. And then tightened the taps that, by the look of it, might somehow have gotten bumped.
Hey presto, the drip stopped and the approximately seven or more stages of plumbing grief moved from being Pissed Off to Sweet Relief. Tell you what, lack of flow never felt so good.
