Why, you ask? This weekend, we experienced our very first, "Oh, $*^#" house moment.
I was walking through the garage, performing the (extremely glamorous) task of transporting dog poop to the dumpster, when I noticed that a good four foot square chunk of the garage floor was wet. And the garage door was dripping. And I knew for a fact that it wasn't because I'd overflowed the washing machine by shoving a ridiculously enormous stuffed animal into it (been there, done that). I glanced up and BOOM. A leaking pipe. One tiny drip at a time, it was slowly soaking the floor.
Well. Surely that's problematic. I called Ryan down to the garage and my suspicions were confirmed - yep, that definitely wasn't supposed to be happening. And, obviously, this leak that wasn't supposed to be happening was happening at 5:30pm on a Friday, when we were a full 48 hours away from being able to reach a plumber of the non-emergency variety.
And so, we handled the situation in a very adult manner - by putting a 50 gallon trashcan under the pipe and forgetting about it (the forgetting about it part isn't entirely true - when the leak started to gain momentum, I did wake up at 3am on Monday morning with the intense need to check the trashcan and ensure it wasn't overflowing everywhere).
Firs thing Monday morning, we called a plumber. #adultlife
|Boots, Target. Tank, PacSun. Sweater, SheInside.|