Plumb crazy

There is a leak in a pipe.

An important pipe.

The elbow joint that connects my washer to the pipe that carries all the crappy water out to the street to be disposed of properly. Bless J's heart, he noticed it, when he went down to the basement for something else - not that I recall what exactly, details, details - and there is was, clear as the discoloration on the drop ceiling.

Right. J thinks it's the elbow joint, that I've managed (ahem, again) to totally screw up an appliances functioning abilities simply by either overuse, or stupidity (or a combination thereof). I went through in my head all the things one is not supposed to wash in your own washer.....floor mats loaded with sand from your car, beach towels loaded with sand, laundry coated in enough dog fur to recreate the dog.....realized that yes, I've washed all those things, and more. (But I won't say what, since sometimes J reads this, and well, I'm not up for another eye popping moment followed by a lecture on my inappropriate usage of said appliance).

Anyhoo.

I called a plumber, not terribly local, not far far away, who told me that next week, for a hundred bucks, he'd come take a look. Yeah....that's not really what I have in mind. Instant gratification and all that. So I called a local guy, recommended by three folks up here and voila'! He arrived bright and early (read: before I showered...grrr) this morning, to Visit My Piping. We traipsed upstairs and down, back down and then up again; Pucker avidly at their heels, me, trying to disguise the fact that four trips upstairs left me breathless.

I prefer to hide my current inability to do anything strenuous. Say, anything beyond breathing. While lying down. Preferably, in a comfy nest. I realize, it's my own fault: not walking my fat dog in bitingly cold weather leaves both of us in rather the same shape...but hello! It's COLD.

Right. The plumbing. We've established it's not the washer, or that elbow joint (which had me swooning, when I heard that sucker was a bundle to replace) - I had a leaky toilet joint nut/bolt thingie that honestly, I know is a bitch to handle, because T in VA and I took out her toilet, and the swearing that we did trying to undo those would make a sailor blush.

He tightened it, charged me marginally for his visit, picked up some puppy kisses, and was on his way.

I'm thrilled it wasn't due to Human Error in the Washer Limitations department. I came clean (pardon the pun) about exactly what I tend to shove in there (yeah, a little eye popping, but he's a freaking plumber, he's heard it all, I imagine) but no, is simply leaky bog.

Fabulous!

Am so exited, I go to flush some...er....ah.....stuff...I found on the floor this morning, and I'll be damned if perhaps he didn't overtighten it. The water went away, very slowly, and never came back. No scary noises this time, and really, I flushed hardly more than a sneezy tissue, so clearly, is not debris. So great, bog no longer leaking? No longer flushing either.

I'm gathering this is not good news.

I did not pay eighty dollars to do something I can totally do on my own: clear a bowl of water, only to never have it return.

I'll have J look at it, when he comes over, perhaps loosen it a wee tad - not enough to leak, just enough to refill the bowl. It's in my bathroom. My Library.

He and I were both right: it's a very important pipe, indeed.