Christmas just wouldn’t be Christmas without a few household catastrophes.
My sister Janet gave my mom a kind of sprayer nozzle for the kitchen sink. In theory, a person would simply screw it onto the faucet and that would be that. In actuality, however, the process involved:
- “I think it’s on there crooked, Jack.”
- “I know, Judy!”
- Dad goes to find a pliers.
- “Don’t we have any blasted pliers in the house?!”
- @$!?!!%&!
- He goes out in the storm to the garage to look.
- Mom attempts her own fix, breaking a small piece.
- “Oh dear.”
- “Don’t tell dad,” I said. “It’ll only get worse.”
- “I broke a piece,” she said.
- “Maybe it’s time to just let me handle it!” he said.
- Several more attempts.
- $!*&@!?!!
- “Is it still leaking?”
- Dad turns on the faucet and it shoots a spray of water right in his eye.
- $&!!?@$!!
- No, we did not get it to work.
Part two of our Christmasly adventure involved my decision to do the laundry. It should have been a minor task, had not the clothes washer decided to leak water all over the floor.
Repeat a similar version of the scene as found above, with the addition of several towels.
