Just a quick update on my plumbing problems. The plumber god showed up mid afternoon. He snaked out the main line to the sewer and got everything flowing again. It appears as if something got caught in a piece of pipe that had shifted causing a disturbance in the flow. As I was cleaning up the mess coming out of the drain in the laundry room I noticed a bunch of Q-Tips. It seems son thinks they can be flushed down the toilet. I now understand what got caught in the piece of pipe that shifted. We had a little talk about this when he arrived home yesterday afternoon.
The damage wasn’t too bad, the plumber was only here for an hour. 45 minutes if you don’t count the time he was trying to flirt with me. He asked me about my motorcycle and what kind of ride I have.
I don’t have a motorcycle. My ex has an Electra Glide Ultra Classic by Harley Davidson, that I should have taken in the divorce, but I didn’t. I couldn’t figure out how he pegged me as a “biker”. When he came to my house to fix the plumbing I was wearing a pair of jeans and several sweatshirts…it’s really cold. I wasn’t wearing any leather, I have no visible tattoos and the ones I do have are hardly Harley tattoos. I look like a frazzled mom of two kids not like some bitch that rides on the back of a hog.
Anyway he told me all about his bike, a Softail (pussy bike) and how he plans on riding down to Texas when it gets a little warmer. A lot of guys, and I say guys because only a male would do this, take their bikes and throw them in a trailer and drive until the snow is gone and then ride the rest of the way to where ever they are going. I don’t know if he is planning this kind of trip and I didn’t want to ask. I wanted him to leave because I had to pee so badly. I was actually doing the potty dance in the kitchen as we spoke. That might be why he thought I was interested.
And I might have been had he not been vertically challenged and at least ten years younger than me. I have a thing about both height and age. Actually I have three rules for any guy I might consider dating. They have to be taller than me (it’s not hard I’m 5’4″), they have to weigh more than me and they have to have shorter hair than me. I have considered adding that they must spend less time in front of a mirror than me but most guys my age aren’t nearly as vain as they were ten and especially twenty years ago. I think these are pretty easy going criteria, if not a little on the shallow end of things. It might explain why I haven’t had a date in several months. I’m too picky for a 42 year old woman.
Anyway, I fought off his advances, lets face it he didn’t smell very good after swimming around in my basement. Stanley didn’t like him much either. So another future ex husband slips through my grasp.
After he left I finally figured out why he was asking me about motorcycles. Down at the bottom of the stairs are a bunch of coats hung up on the wall. Both of my Harley leather jackets are hanging on the wall, in a sea of other coats, mind you, but they are there. I kinda get creeped out thinking he might have pawed through the coats to be able to identify the motorcycle jacket.
So my water is leaving my house just fine today. My son can still go to college however MIT might not take him if he can’t learn to throw a damn Q-Tip in the trash can instead of toilet.