Advanced Plumbingly Disinclined

In a Sunday school class on marriage I said that the Husband is not a fix it guy. I meant this as a great compliment. When I am distressed, when I have a problem, when I just need to rage, he listens with patience and tenderness, he holds me, and he does not fix it. When I am done being despicably dramatic, then he will sit down with me, and we will set about putting the universe right. But at the start he is singularly the most comforting, empathetic creature on our planet, like a big panda bear... except chiseled out of granite like a Greek god... like Panda, the lesser know god of being an incredible husband and patron guardian of softball players... I digress.

What I did not mean is that Justin does not fix stuff around the house. He does. Oh, does he. It's part of his divine character. ... I am not sure if I mean that statement in a christian way or if I am referring back to my earlier pagan reference. Somehow this all went very wrong.

The Husband fixes cars, he digs up and repairs sprinklers (Often. There are two seasons in our house: Winter and Lowe's.), he lays carpet, nails up dry wall, balances washers, sews up couch cushions, and clips dog claws. He unclogs toilets, catches mice, hangs shelves, and threatens our Apple T.V. box with various hammers and mallets, until, quite embarrassed (and terrified), it starts working again (under the threat of Mjölnir). The fact that he has had to do all of these things, and most several many times, is really just a little sad.

The thing is, he just doesn't have that kind of time anymore. Time not spent studying, eating, or sleeping (or some combination of those three) is stolen for his wife, children, and brief stints as a church drummer. Most of the time now shelves remain unhung, the Apple TV stays haughtily broken,  the mice have to catch themselves, and the washer spins tipsy-turvy making that joyful, repetitive thunking sound - you know, the one that makes you want to gather your children and put out a For Sale sign. I don't know how to fix anything, and after a few misadventures, Justin prefers I just not try. Our home owner's insurance just doesn't cover acts of idiocy.

So when the bathtub started filling up, I ignored it. With water sloshing around my ankles, I sang a happy song in my head and kept my eyes up. When Dumpster jumped in the tub after showers and drank his heart's content, I closed my eyes and backed away. When the tub gurgled Liquid Plumber, like a child gurgles Cool-aid, sipped it down and remained stubbornly un-drain-y, I took deep breaths and contented to ten.

Finally, the Husband had enough. He took three minutes to assess, plan, and implement a solution.

Voila:

And yes, oh yes, that is a golf tee. I have no idea what the red thing is, but I am sure it also served a purpose for which it was not designed.

Oi. I don't know what else to say. This is where we are. And by grace we have golf tees from carefree spring days.