My sink broke. Olivia noticed it was leaking into the cabinet, so my husband trouble shot it and turned off the water line.
I was proud of him for handling it immediately, though really, there is no choice when it comes to leaking water. He said he would fix it. It sat like that for months.
Here’s the thing about Claus: he’s not really handy. He is now teaching himself to be handier, but for years and years, he would just pick up the phone and call a professional.
He’s really smart. He can do anything he puts his mind to. His mind would just rather be doing other things like tri-training, drinking wine, or just about anything else.
I’m not sure what’s gotten into him lately but people evolve and I support his desire to be Mr. Fix It. Even if it means sharing a bathroom with him for weeks on end.
Here are all the steps he took to get it fixed:
Work up desire to take on this project for a few days.
Find faucet box (In attic? Garage?) to see if it’s covered by warranty.
Let box sit on his makeshift (and wife-unapproved) workspace on the kitchen counter for a few more days.
Get around to reading paperwork inside box.
Call manufacturer for new sink part.
Receive box, let it sit on workspace for another few days before opening.
Let new faucet part sit on counter for a couple days; must be like how you aerate red wine before drinking.
First attempt at fixing: the part is wrong!
Get upset and drink glass of wine.
Mail back part and get new part from manufacturer.
Receive box. Let it sleep with dog on porch overnight because everyone too lazy to bring box in house.
The part is correct! Drive to hardware store to get plumber’s putty.
Wait to fix sink until he’s sweaty from a six miler; might as well do everything sweaty at one time!
Second attempt at fixing: curse because putty is somehow wrong, refuse to fight traffic back to the store that day.
Get correct plumber’s putty.
Total time elapsed: 9 weeks
My stuff sat out on the bedroom floor for so long, I started to not “see” it anymore. Need cotton swabs, walk towards closet. Time for new bottle of shampoo, look by the dresser. Normal, right?
I didn’t really pester him. He’ll do it when he does it.
Plus, I figure sharing a bathroom with two females is incentive enough. I think he was wholly unprepared for the invasion of girl stuff: rubber bands, brushes, makeup, mirrors, hair clips, hair smoother, hair spray, perfume, lip balm, lotions, essential oils, and way, way more.
Not to mention the insane amount of hair on the ground. I alone shed so many hair strands I have to sweep the floor every day. I’m not balding. I just have a lot of hair.
I don’t know why he didn’t give up halfway through. I know it drove him nuts.
I think it was some version of how men won’t stop the car to ask for directions. At some point, it became a Man Challenge.
That’s fine. This house has a lot more challenges for him. Two electrical outlets just died and the dishwasher is making a funny sound.
I’ll just cheer quietly from the side and have his glass of wine waiting.