Growl.

So the universe threw me a bone.

And as I was sitting there hunched over, gnawing on it with slobbery jowls and menacing growls (nobody wants to bother me while I’m gnawing on bones), the universe sauntered right up to me, looked me straight in the eye, held out its hand, and said, “Give it back.”

R.I.P. Hot Water Heater
(1989-2010)

Dang. Hate when that happens.

Last night, as we were settling in for bed, I became grouchy with Poor Kyle because he was teasing me for checking my email so frequently (So what? I like to know if someone’s contacted me!), so I huffed out of our bedroom and stomped downstairs to the guest bedroom, wishing he would follow me but knowing he wouldn’t because he never does.

As I flopped onto the guest bed, reacquainting myself with the chill of sheets that haven’t been slept in for several months, I picked up my phone to check my email in peace.

Then, out of the corner of my ear, I heard an unfamiliar noise:

Drip…drip…drip…

For a moment, I stopped what I was doing and just listened to the dripping. I usually have a pretty keen sense of water noises around our house; when our washing machine erupted and started draining straight into our basement, I heard it. When our garbage disposal was on the fritz and was leaking under the sink, I heard it.

I’m like the Rainman of leaky plumbing.

So I listened to the drip for a few minutes, just to make sure it was a noise that was not supposed to be happening (because it would be awful to go back upstairs and face my husband again just for a noise that our house has always made…how embarrassing). Finally I decided the drip was indeed the wrong kind of drip, so I dragged myself out of bed, opened the door into the utility closet, peered into the darkness, and saw a steadily-growing puddle underneath our hot water heater.

Dadgummit.

Back up the stairs I tromped, meekly pushing open the door to our bedroom to face my failure. I hated eating humble pie—hated admitting that I needed Poor Kyle even though I was so mad I could hardly look at his smug bearded face.

“Babe,” I said, my voice a mixture of disintegrating pride and waxing humility, “our hot water heater is leaking.”

Twenty minutes later, we were both tucked neatly back into (the same) bed, having cut off the water and resolving to deal with it in five hours (morning time).

I must admit, though, that even though I’m annoyed about the unforeseen expense—even though I’m sad that a good chunk of our much-anticipated tax return will now be spent on dirty dishes and warm showers—it’s really fascinating to me how it all turned out.

The puddle, for example, was relatively small under the hot water heater—it couldn’t have been leaking for too long. And we rarely enter the guest bedroom in the basement, so who knows how long it could have gone on if I hadn’t stormed downstairs in a fit of annoyance last night? I know that quarreling with one’s husband is not usually a blessing in disguise, but in this case, it was. Moreover, a busted hot water heater is not normally a source of peacemaking between quarreling married couples, but in our case (that is, in the case of me feeling bad that Poor Kyle had so much on his mind anyway with his new job and money concerns and now a hot water heater to replace on top of everything else, and my subsequent decision to forget about his teasing and let bygones be bygones), it was.

So the universe is hovering over me, threatening to wrench my hard-earned bone from my protective little grasp, and it’s scary. At any given moment, I feel liable to throw up my hands in defeat like I so often do, release my already-weak hold on the bright side of life, and just succumb to the miserable part of adulthood that’s never far away.

But it’s a good sort of bone—the kind that promises not only hours of chewing enjoyment, but also whiter enamel and fewer cavities and sharper canine incisors—the kind that’s worth holding on to. I’m not giving it up without a fight.

About Camille

I'm Camille. I have a butt-chin. I live in Canada. I was born in Arizona. I like Diet Dr. Pepper. Hello. You can find me on Twitter @archiveslives, Facebook at facebook.com/archivesofourlives, instagram at ArchivesLives, and elsewhere.
This entry was posted in fiascos, Married Life, mondays suck, oh brother what next, woe is me. Bookmark the permalink.

12 Responses to Growl.

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  2. Maureen says:

    Adulthood can be a pain, but as my mom always tells me, you just have to suck it up and deal with it. Seems like you’re doing pretty good already. Good luck!

  3. Joel says:

    Yeah, actually having problems that matter helps to resolve issues based on problems that don’t matter.

    And it’s not a hot water heater. It is a water heater. Why would someone make something to heat hot water? Or why would you buy it?

  4. whitney says:

    I HATE unexpected expenses. They make me stressed out. Im sorry about your water heater. Boo.

  5. geevz says:

    Oh camille I feel your pain! Ours busted and floodedour garage and part of our house. I was tiicked and double ticked because I had to take off work to take care of it. But our homeowners covered it and we took the restoration check and did it ourselves. Even after the deductable we ended up making money. And I felt super smart after learning how to dry wall. You can really learn anything on youtube.

    I applaud your take on the situation. Way to be strong!

  6. anna says:

    That stinks. But hey, 21 years? A guy I work with just had his water heater bust and it’s only two years old.

  7. Alyssa says:

    Ugh! A few years ago, our hot water heater EXPLODED in our finished basement and all the water soaked up the log-cabin style wood walls. New carpet, new walls, new furniture, and one hefty deductible on our insurance. Hopefully these things don’t really come in 3’s!

  8. that doesn’t sound fun at all.

    also, this post made me hungry. why you ask? because you said ‘humble pie.’ and there’s a restaurant called humble pie in scottsdale which has my favorite pizza in the world. and now i want some.

  9. GRANMAMA says:

    Do they coordinate the ads on the side with what you write? Your side bar ads are about plumbing and in AZ no less! How does that work? WHne you wrote abnout jead bands the ads were about head bands. Curious it is! TYhe ads were interesting on the side.

  10. Emily says:

    You sound so optimistic! This is a side of you we rarely see. Yay, Camille!

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