Cracking Up

Good news! I've had to dispose of so much stuff due to previous floods that the giant puddle slowly making its way from the utility room into the livable (theoretically) part of the basement has little in its path to destroy.

Recently, when I realized my roof was falling apart, my soon to be ex suggested I take one for the team and do a roofer. Now I'm torn. Plumber butt is starting to sound pretty enticing. Or, I could just go with Plan A, set fire to the whole place, and snag my fire fighter. (Disclaimer: I am joking. If my house goes up in flames, I did NOT do it.)

I am trying to become a realist, and after more than two years of occasional visits to online dating sites, I think I am pretty savvy when it comes to evaluating relationship potential. As a practical matter, with the house falling apart around me, I think I need to focus on the long term rather than a quick cougar style roll in the hay (which, by the way, may be far more comfortable than a roll in my soggy mattress after the shingles finally implode). Catastrophic as a roof collapse may be, a roofer has limited utility; after all, there is only one roof. A fire fighter? Nice fantasy, but when the house is nothing more than a pile of soot, sex can be a bit of a logistical nightmare, and the possibility of any sort of discretion (hey, I don't worry about shit like that but Chief Smokin' Hot might), melts away with the drywall.

So I'm thinking I'll get the most bang (yes, I said bang) for my buck with a plumber, and for that I can overlook the little bit of butt crack peeking out over his jeans when he bends over to look under my kitchen sink. Maybe it'll even motivate me to leave the room and fold some laundry. Don't ever underestimate the power of revulsion. Anyway, it makes good economic sense. I have four toilets, one of which is already leaking, and another of which makes a noise when it's flushed that literally makes the house shake. Frankly, I think it makes more sense to have a plumber rocking my world than a toilet.  Let's do the math: four toilets, seven sinks, a sump pump, a hot water heater (why shouldn't it break even though it's less than a year old?) -- well, you get the picture. Doing a plumber would be like making maximum monthly deposits into a retirement plan. I might even save enough to buy the guy a pair of pants that fits.

I've already put in a call to a plumbing service. My extensive dating experience has taught me a lot about the importance of first impressions, and I don't really have the time to go through a protracted courtship, so I'm hanging out in an old sexy negligee I dug out of my underwear drawer. Well it used to be sexy. Must have shrunk in the wash.

If he's nice, I'll do him a favor and change into some granny pants and a sweatshirt. If he's nasty, maybe I'll stick with the ill fitting negligee and just bend over to look under the sink -- give him a taste of his own medicine. Hmm, maybe not.

I'll do whatever it takes. Won't even toss the guy out of bed for eating crackers. Just being a good sport -- takin' one for the team.