Busted

So when I left you, we were still in the throws of the US Open Tennis. The finals were rained out on Sunday, so they were put over until Monday at 4. Which I successfully translated to 1 p.m. pacific time. There was no mention of it on the tv directory and I wasn't sure how long it would go or if my super duper dvr would misinterpret my desire to tape some soap opera that started at 1 with really wanting that show in the middle of the night when it was rescheduled to. Oye.

So I made sure to come home from work at 1 p.m. to watch it in person and make sure that my dvr was taping. I couldn't just stay home the whole afternoon--I wanted to, of course, but I was really, really busy at work, so no. Not an option. Really, I'm just going to make sure it's taping and get right back to work. It was a great plan.

I'm always late for everything. Some people say that this is because I just don't care enough about other people to be on time. Some people say that this is a method to increase my importance because other people are forced to wait for ME, because I am so important. Some people (the ones I actually listen to) say that I just try to do too many things and chronically underestimate how long things take in my quest to be all and make every moment count. Whatever the reason, I was mindful that I am always late and I didn't want to be late for tennis. So I was of course running late (and there wasn't even anyone waiting for me, critics..) so I was pushing every light and generally rushing. I made it to the back door at exactly (or within a few minutes anyway) at 1:00 p.m.. I was ready to rush in the back door and proceed directly to my sitting room and grab the remote and turn on the tennis.

Now let me just digress a minute to tell you that I always fast forward the tape over the part where the tennis players are waiting in the hallway and the press ask them a few questions before they come out, even though, once in a commercial John McEnroe was asked what does he think about before the big match and his answer was "I hope my socks match." I love that, but anyway, I don't want to see that little pre-game interview. I don't want to know that English is not their first language. I don't want to see them warm up before the game. Sure, if they are rude to each other in the warm up, that's a sign and I'll be watching for fireworks, but generally, they are standoffishly cordial, because let's face it, they are professionals and they make a lot of money--it's not wrestling. Where was I--oh, yes. I do not watch the beginning. There was really no reason to rush. The match doesn't really start at the beginning--most of the time it takes at least 15 to 20 minutes to actually start. So there was no reason to be there exactly at 1 p.m.. And yet, I was freakishly motivated and I really tried to be there at 1 p.m. exactly.

So I opened the back door. The back door opens to the kitchen and right inside the kitchen on the right is the kitchen sink. Our dishwasher died earlier in the week, so seven people who can't pick up a plate to save their lives are suddenly expected to hand wash their own dishes. These thoughts are going through my mind as the sight before me begins to register. There was water gushing--major waterfall action--from under the sink. There was a large puddle in front of the sink and I could see at the other end of the room, a stream of water was just starting to make its way into the dining room. I immediately called Dad to ask how to turn off the water.

Let me digress again. I'm over 50 years old. I've been a homeowner for many years. I've lived in this particular house for over 10 years. I am in charge of the water filter under the sink. I've changed the filters many many times and every time I call my Dad to ask him how to turn off the water. It's not like there aren't very distinctive knobs right there where they always are every time I go under the sink. So the fact is I do know how to turn off the water, but for some reason I have to make that call, every single time. This time was no exception, except that water was gushing out and holding the phone and sloshing in there in my good shoes and my suit coat and trying to turn off the water while Dad is answering the phone, the irony of my gut reaction to call was large on my brain.

I turned off the water, said good-bye to Dad and looked at the damage. Towels--I was going to need a lot of towels. I hated to use my towels. Our kitchen floor is disgusting. Oh well, I pulled out my three towels. That wasn't enough. So I looked around for more towels--not an easy task. We have many adults and no towels, so when someone gets a towel, they tend to hoard it. I managed to locate two more towels. Only a little water went into the other room and the towel seemed to do the job. So I'm looking at all the water in the kitchen and all the towels and then I realized, my tennis was starting.

So I went to watch tennis. This is a few weeks later, but I have to stop here and say--Djokovic, oh my! I have such a new found respect for him. He played astoundingly well. I love Nadal and of course I wanted him to win, but I must admit there were several times that I was cheering for Djokovic too. Luckily they had a rain delay so that I could go back to work, because once the match started, I really couldn't leave.

And if I had left, then first I would have to deal with the kitchen, so part of it might have been procrastinating that ordeal--maybe.

No one was home. A house full of adults and none of them with regular jobs with regular hours and not a single person was home for the waterfall event. And it must have started very shortly before I got home, because it had only just started to go in the next room. Talk about lucky. What are the odds. I never come home at lunch--the only reason I was there was because it rained in New York on Sunday and I don't trust my new dvr. So the fortuitousness of my discovery is not lost on me. However, I have no dishwasher and now I have no water in the kitchen sink. This could get really, really ugly, really, really fast.

So Adam came home and I corralled him into helping me. He said, "What am I supposed to do?" and I lamented that my fantasy that guys just know this stuff that escapes me blew up in my brain. Go under the sink and just start turning knobs until the kitchen sink works and we find where the leak is. So he turned a knob and water gushed out of the water filter. We looked around and called Dad again. He told us there should be a knob before the hook up to the water filter and there was. Adam turned it on--no water gushing leak and the water came on in the sink. Mission accomplished. I told Adam to take the wet towels outside and hang them up. He grimaced and I rejoiced the I didn't have to do it. So Adam threw them on the ground outside. He does it half ass, so that I'll do it over. It's just a little dance that we dance. So I got him to throw the towels on the gate and we got out paper towel and got the last of the water up. I tried the hot water and it didn't work, but I went under the sink without thinking and turned the right knob for hot water. If I had thought about it, I'd have needed to call my Dad and make Adam turn all the knobs again.

So tennis was taping (luckily I saw a tiny blurb that said it was going over to espn2 after the rain delay and I set up everything on that channel for 8 hours to tape and luckily it worked). The water that I could see was dried. The kitchen sink worked. So I went back to work. I stayed away from twitter and facebook and the internet news and no one told me anything about the tennis match. I got back home around six or so and found the right taped program and settled in to watch the game--it was a very exciting match. At about five hours in, ON THE TAPE, they were saying if it went over a certain time, the coverage would switch to another channel, so that added to the drama. I didn't have another channel taped and I was too far behind to change now. Luckily, Nadal pulled it out in the forth set. I was very happy. I had had my full quota of drama that day.