A Story About a Plumber, Dog Hair, and a Flood

It's Monday night. 11ish. I return home from watching The Bachelorette with my girlfriends, open the front door and walk into a house that smells highly of a damp towel that's been sitting on the floor of the laundry room mildewing for a week and half without anyone noticing. I immediately alert B to this terrible odor and he insists that he doesn't notice it. Men.

Well, then, I must investigate alone, all while convincing myself that our home has a mold infestation and we will likely all suffer black lung and die of dysentery Oregeon Trail-style. {Dr. Google confirms that black lung happens to coal miners, but whatever.} The smell seemed to be circulating through the vents, so I naturally blame the basement. The cold, dark basement that houses the mice compound, mounds of laundry, and enough dog hair to outfit several small long-haired chiuauas. Needless to say, I don't go down there unless it's absolutely necessary (i.e. when no one has clean undies).

I decide to make the trek downstairs anyway. I open both the washer and dryer and give both a good sniff, praying that they're the culprit. Because, you know, it's not uncommon that I would leave a load in the washer for, hmmmm, a week before rewashing it [twice] and transfering it to the dryer. Despite my inability to do laundry in a timely manner, the washer and dryer both check out and I move on to sniffing other things.

Like the wash basin (gross!) and the drain (grosser!).

And then I move onto the ceiling. I am a tall girl, so sniffing the ceiling really wasn't that difficult. My nose leads me directly to a drip. A drip we've known about for toomanymonthstoadmit right under the bathtub. I call B down at this point, since he's even taller than I am, thus putting his nose even closer to the ceiling of the basement than my own. He pulls out the "I've been telling you about this for months!" card and I [silently] agree [in my head] that something should have been done much sooner. Like, say, January? Niether of us are willing to touch the area of the possible drip, lest we contract black lung or dysentery and decide that I will call a plumber in the morning.

I do and he shows up about 4pm yesterday. Let me give you a mental image: dude is 7 feet tall and roughly 400 pounds. And dressed in a black {too tight} tee shirt and black {too short} shorts. And boots, of course. He is so tall that when I lead his nose to the basement, his head grazes the underside of our basement stairs. In doing so, his buzz cut attracts a huge clump of dog hair. And then I must carry on a serious conversation with this man about my concerns that the entire first floor is going to collapse due to rotting from the drip, all while a mass of Leland's fur is attached to his head. Five minutes in and I am less concered with the drip and more concerned with containing my laughter to the inside my head. Also, he is sweating profusely and wiping his face with a roll or paper towels that he brought into my house. Not one paper towel. The entire roll. Would you believe me if I told you flies were swarming him too? Because they were. And they were not from inside my home. Swear. It was like Pig Pen (from the Peanuts Gang) in the flesh, as a plumber.

Turns out, the drip is minor and due to improper shower seals and has nothing to do with any pipe damage or anything. And it cost $75 for this diagnosis. But the comic relief may have been worth it.

Yet, the story goes on, which brings us back to the smell. Which was not, in fact, resonating from the drip in the ceiling exactly. But, from a pile of old clothes sitting beneath the drip that had mildewed/molded since...er...well, for a long time. Too long. Common sense tells you I would have guessed that first, but, no I didn't and we didn't discover it until the flood.

Oh yes, our basement flooded with 4 inches of water last night after a 45 minute torrential downpour and our outdoor drain was clogged with mud and our indoor drain was clogged with, you guessed it, dog hair. Upon removing any and everything that got wet and putting it straight into the garbarge, we discovered the moldy clothes pile and now life is good.

Just thought you would appreicate that story. Have a glorious Wednesday.