Snaking the drain and other erotic half-truths.

If the sink were a heart, the drainpipe would be an artery, the faucet a skull, and the assisting drain surgeon a numbskull.

This began as a comment on Kys awesome blog aptly called Stir-Fry Awesomeness. I thought it was too good to remain as a comment and decided to expand it into a post that I hope you’ll take a gander at while in goose-neck position, with head bowed over laptop, or in red-throated loon position, with head and neck habitually pointed slightly upward, gaze affixed parallel to the screen.

Just follow the words to the end of this sentence to read the inflated commentary about the drain that required an angioplasty this past Sunday.

Caution: Beware of possible screen turbulence due to the sudden change in tense.

My brainwaves are clogged after helping my husband snake the drain. It’s a lot sexier sounding than it really was.

What a mess! Mouse droppings from a rodent era of days-gone-by scattered beneath the sink along with wet lards of meatloaf, the villain in the compelling “mystery of the clogged sink.”

After my husband determined the clog was localized in the drainpipe underneath the kitchen sink, it was time to plunge into action.

We each grabbed a bucket and started scooping murky sink water with chunks of dinners-past, and then dumping the muck into the toilet in the powder room. Not a pretty sight. Once the sink had been adequately drained, it was time to head into the dark recesses of cabinetry beneath the sink, where I removed boxes of dishwasher powder (there were three of them), sponges, Brillo pads, and other unidentified over the counter products that somehow ended up under the counter.

As my husband sank to his knees, he looked at me, as if it would be the last time I’d see him, sat on the floor with said bucket, placed it beneath the drain, and then removed the curved pipe from the main drain vessel. The word Titanic came to mind, as water gushed into the bucket and around it, soaking my husband and the dark underworld below the sink.

“Abandon sink,” I did not yell, while chunks of fat deposit plopped into the pail, as my brave husband dredged gunk from the drainpipe with his bare hands. It will be awhile before I allow him to touch me again.

Once the spewing and plopping ceased, the reattaching of parts and cleaning of sink muck began with grunts of disgust and mutterings of “Oh, God, no. Just kill me now.”

Thirty-minutes later, a dull glare shone from the floor and counter. I shielded my eyes, while reviving my husband, yet another exaggerated falsehood, although the kitchen looked, somewhat, passable, attaining a level of adequacy never previously achieved.

“Better than going to the gym,” I said.

My husband just glared at me and left the kitchen to go upstairs to take a shower.

Lessons learned: Run hot water onto fat saturated baking dishes before the fat coagulates. If the drain clogs, wait until Monday and call a plumber.

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12 Comments Snaking the drain and other erotic half-truths.

  1. kys

    "Better than going to the gym."- You must like the gym as much as I do.

    And why do plumbing emergencies only happen on weekends and holidays?

    Thanks for the link, friend. I always enjoy your blog and your comments on mine.

  2. Will

    Hi Lauren.
    Somehow sounds so familiar,why do women poor leftovers down the sink?Lol
    And why is their spouce the 24/7 plummmer service?
    But still you manage to blend it in to a sstory crossed between "Titanic and The River wild"
    have a great day.

  3. Ryhen Satch

    If you allowed your sink to remain clogged, sooner or later, the different molecules will experience nuclear fusion and turn into spongebob squarepants. He will turn your entire house into a mess, and you wouldn't like that. You and your husband are very brave. You did the right thing.

  4. Mr. Stupid

    Well, Detective "Unclogger" did it again. And thanks for the visuals. I could see every part of the Unclogging on my Computer screen… 🙂

  5. stanleygoodspeed

    My mum and dad had a similar episode in their first year o fmarriage. 28 years on, they're a finally tuned washing up machine through which pans are cleansed and excess waste is neatly dispersed in empty butter tubs.

  6. Lauren

    Kys: I hate the gym! Only signed up to help motivate my husband who signed up first. However, neither of us goes. Always enjoy reading your blog and hearing from you.

    Will: Guilty as charged. I clogged the drain. Thanks for the "River Wild" interpretation.

    Nancy: Glad you found the post helpful. I'm going to have a quiz to see what you've learned. I've enjoyed your painting posts.

    Ryhen: Thank God we fixed the problem. Don't want spongebob squarepants hanging out in my drain.

    Mr. S: Glad you liked the visuals.

    Stanley: Sounds interesting. I'll have to stock up on butter tubs. Thanks for commenting.

  7. Carl

    Hi Lauren,
    After owning rental property for "much too long"! 🙂 I have this experience far too often!..
    From a very practical prospective I would encourge anyone who would like to forgo this experience to wipe out their dish with a paper towel; then any remaining grease can be flushed down with lots of hot water :)Be extra careful in winter if you live in a colder climate.
    However, it takes talent to make this exercize enternaining..haha but you did.
    Take Care,

  8. Bonehead

    Yecch – there's no worse place in the house than under the sink. Having spent some time there myself (usually on my back looking helplessly up at the particular piping problem) I can feel your husbands pain.

    I love the line "Abandon Sink"!

    I'm going to grab your badge and add it to my sidebar in the boner award locale…

  9. Pingback: Lauren Salkin

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