Friday, February 1, 2013

It's all YOU, babe!

I can remember, not so long ago, that I used to rail against "those thieving plumbers".  How dare they think that they can get away with charging $75/hour, and most of them without a university education.  I always clumped those robbers into the same scummy territory that I reserved for insurance companies but I've got it.  I now know.  I have truly been enlightened.

Most of the sailing sites out there in the internet blogosphere focus on photos of pristine beaches, clear blue waters, cultural experiences; sometimes I think to make all those sorry and pathetic souls "left behind" feel less worthy.  To be sure, we DO get to see those islands, those old-world charm towns and villages, and have meaningful cross-cultural exchanges with the locals, times it's different.  Really different. 

Take today as an example.  Or even, the last two days, as once you've had fun, you just want to keep repeating it over and over again.  We had had a perpetual slow leak in our head (toilet, for those non-sailors out there) and while not too terribly gross, it was something that needed to be wiped up from time to time, as a drip or two seemed to escape from.....somewhere.  Ron was tired of it, and so he felt it might be time to throw himself into the chore of "dealing with the head", in whatever shape that was going to take.  To be honest, I helped too, unlike many women on boats that promptly proclaim that as a "blue" job, not one for the fairer sex. 

After an afternoon of cleaning, removing, regreasing, inspecting, replacing, and generally tidying up an oh-so-important and integral part of our lives, we patted ourselves on the back, and proceeded to sit back secure in the knowledge that that horrific job was done again, for another few years.  Yesterday morning, Ron was ready to fully experience his own fantastic handywork, but was not to be.  For some reason, the bowl wouldn't empty.  The macerator, on command, did it's job, but the offending bowl just wouldn't evacuate.  And offending was really the operative adjective. 

We needed to think on it.  With our friends Ben and Molly from Knee Deep, we discussed, evaluated and generally talked around the subject with liberal doses of libations, but it was not until this morning that we plunged in, yet again.  But of course, first, the bowl had to be emptied, THE OLD FASHIONED WAY.   Apparently, this WAS a pink job, but after that I handed the reins to my better 1/2.

You can see how happy he is.  Too bad blogs don't come with all sensory sensations. 

You see why I now appreciate those unsung heroes.  Let's raise a toast to the Plumber.

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