Monday, June 02, 2014

{water works}

The door bell rang early this morning while I was working on a latte and watching Barclay make eggs. My heart hopped up and grabbed my tonsils for a second. Whenever the door bell rings at a weird time, I worry that there is a serial killer at the door. This is highly improbable and seriously illogical considering serial killers are not usually polite and considerate of social constructs such as door bells. 

But, there I am, a paranoid mess as per always.

I watch the whole thing play out in my mind's eye. I answer the door; a smile on my face. There he stands, greasy hair, 5 foot 6, chomping on a cigar. He has a gun, and a knife, and a chainsaw.

He says, "Boo," and kills me dead.

It was not, as it turns out, a serial killer, or even a one-time killer, or even, from the looks of him, a guy who cheats on his taxes.

It was a man, and he was greasy, but instead of coming to shoot me in the head, he was coming to inform me that he needed to turn our water off for a few hours so he could do some pipe stuff (technical jargon).

Rats rats rats, big stupid rats.

People like me, who like to wash their hands a million times a day, do not like to have their water taken away. I pouted about it for a minute, and then decided that it could be like some kind of inadvertent cognitive behavioural therapy for me. I rolled with it.

I rolled with it for all of five minutes, and then I packed up and abandoned ship. I headed off to the Log Cabin (the thrift store on Dewdney) where I spent $5 and got four shirts and two CDs (Sufjan's Illinoise and Death Cab's Narrow Stairs). I stopped by Don's Photo and dropped off a roll of film from over a year ago.

When I came back, the water was on. My heart abounds with thankfulness.