Want to Join the Church of Plumbing?

There were ten of us in my kitchen doing the dinner dance when I reached over to slap the kitchen faucet off and actually slapped it right off. As in not attached any more.

I was horrified because I was trying my darnedest to impress these people and Niagara Falls in the kitchen, while it added nicely to the ambience, was not what I was looking for. Scrambling around in our tool chest, I found a wrench, and turned those delicate screws to shut of our sound elements.

The next day, Jefe decided that this was something that he could tackle all by his lonesome.

Now, here’s something you should know about the two of us: DIYer’s we are not. We like to think we are; we even fantasize about all the various things we would “upgrade” in our home. But the cold hard truth is we are about as handy with a hammer as Handy Mandy is Real.

We hustled our little bustles over to the Big Box Store that-shall-not-be-named and purchased our necessary tools for our epic Faucet Repair. The Big Box Store man assured us that this project was easy and anyone with half a brain could accomplish it in no more than 45 minutes.

Cool.

We’re educated people and we rather certain that we could beat that record.

After NINETY MINUTES of trying to get those bolts off, Jefe was getting grumpy. It seems the doofus that built our house didn’t know what he was doing, and stripped everything and then used Liquid Nail.

Why?

Who knows.

Jefe determined that the first step for us in this epic faucet repair would be cutting the tubes that were holding everything together —starting fresh with everything. That seemed like a perfectly logical solution to me, so I offered up my spousal support in the form of watching.

The left side came off flawlessly. Then he started on the right, and that was when all hell broke loose. Quite literally.

Old Faithful erupted in our kitchen and Jefe was trying his hardest to direct all that erupting water down the drain. It wasn’t working very well. I stood gaping at him like a mute fool. I didn’t know if I should start yelling, running around, or cry.

So I decided to laugh.

I laughed so hard I could barely talk.

I couldn't help myself. It was really rather funny. The whole kitchen was getting a nice shower, and poor Jefe was starting to look like a drowned rat. He enlisted my help-- I had to try and direct the water down the drain, while he turned all the water off at the main source. At first, I think he was really mad at me cause I was laughing... but then he started laughing too.

I kept trying to get Jefe to call my Dad to get him to come and help us, because it seemed like we were going about this bass-ackwards.

Jefe’s response? “I went to Law School, for hell’s sake. I think I can handle changing a faucet! “

My Dad’s spidey senses must have been going crazy because literally two seconds later he walked through the door and offered his services. Jefe told him what he was doing, and Dad climbed under the sink and – if I’m lying I’m dying—had the bolt off, and the faucet out in two minutes.

Jefe’s jaw literally dropped.

Twenty minutes later the job was finished.

It was right then and there—in the kitchen with the Geyser actively flowing—that  we pinky swore to each other that we would get baptized into the church of Extended Home Warranties and Faucet Repair Men.

And we have been active, participating members ever since.

*Disclaimer: I am participating in a blogger campaign by Bucks2Blog and was compensated. However, the stories and opinions are my own.