So much for all of the writing by hand that I intended to do over the next week or so. I can still type, obviously, but holding a pen is a bit painful.
I spent a good chunk of yesterday proving how totally useless I am at DIY jobs. But so is Richard, which is why I ended up giving it a whirl. No insult to him intended, by the way. Just a statement of fact. He’s a lovely man with oodles of positive attributes that more than make up for his non-status as a Mr. Fix It. But sometimes it would be really handy if one of us had a bit of skill in certain areas.
It should have been a very simple task, really – just changing the washer in the dripping hot water tap on the bath tub. Something Richard has actually managed easily lots of times. But not this time.
As you all know by now, I live in an old house that has a lot of the old features still intact … and that I very much like intact. The plumbing has obviously been modernized a few times over the decades, but what we inherited is getting on a bit, including the bathroom taps. So, it’s a matter of taking apart various bits and pieces in order to get at the washer, unlike modern taps that are more or less all in one piece. A bit fiddly, but not too bad, really … except when the various pieces don’t want to come off! Normally they do, but yesterday they just wouldn’t. Richard eventually gave up, as any sane person would. But I’m made of more stubborn stock. I suppose that I should have taken the hint when the rubber glove I was wearing for extra grip ended up somewhat shredded in spots. But I just adjusted it a bit and kept on trying to twist off those wretched pieces of chrome. The palm of my hand had gone numb from the friction, so I didn’t realize that the skin was blistering, and worse, under the glove.
But now I know. I gave my wrist a good wrenching, too, so the hand really isn’t very happy at all. I should have known better with the wrist, as the main tendon from thumb to wrist has been rather fragile for several years. But of course such things always go out of my head at the precise moments when they shouldn’t.
So, yes, it’s all self-inflicted and I don’t really deserve your sympathy. But do allow me a pathetic, self-pitying whimper or two, please.
Oh, and by the way, we never did get the tap fixed. In fact, our combined efforts made the drip worse. Which upset us tremendously, and made Stephanie roll her eyes and admonish us both for getting so worked up over “a stupid tap.” Easy for her to say when she wasn’t the one struggling with it and sporting the hand with raw spots after! But, to add insult to injury, literally, she later ran a bath, turned the tap off as per usual, and the wretched thing hasn’t dripped once since. I mean, I’m pleased that it’s not dripping anymore. Truly I am. But she can pull off a “my parents are so pathetic” look like nobody else on earth. And I really, really, really hate giving her an excuse to give us that look.
Not that we didn’t deserve it last night, mind you.