The Broken Faucet (and nothing about yarn)

I didn’t have the best of weeks. It started when Boy Twin handed me the handle on the kitchen faucet. Thank God he didn’t break the handle or even knew how the handle got broke. I mean what kind of future criminal breaks the kitchen faucet and hands you the handle?

In my seven decades of life I have never broken a faucet handle, much less handed it to my father. Faucets are so seldom broken they come with a lifetime guarantee. (Except for mine, more about that later.)

I know, you are thinking, “Monner, you work in construction, fix the (construction language) faucet.” There are two things I don’t like to do in construction. Both of them are plumbing. OK, there are more thing I don’t like to do in construction. I don’t like drywall, roofing, concrete, electrical and/or construction workers. I just didn’t want you to think I didn’t like my job.

I hope Elaine and Ivy read this and let me comeback into the store.

Back to the story; I could have called a plumber. OK, I did call a plumber, but he was booked up for two weeks. I couldn’t think of a way we could live without a kitchen sink for two weeks. I knew I was going need to replace the faucet myself.

Think about the things you keep under your kitchen sink. Dishwasher detergent, old rags, glass cleaner and if you live int the country; mouse poison. Yep, that’s where I’m going to be working.

I’m not the biggest guy in the world, but I’m not the smallest guy in the world either. When you put drain pipes and a garbage disposal in a cabinet, old stiff non-bending guys have trouble climbing into cabinets and hooking up faucets. Thank God, I didn’t just describe myself.