Last night, Shawn and I were sitting out back, relaxing for a few before we went to bed. He goes in the house, and I hear him say "Sarah." Okay, I also heard water running, like the washing machine, only louder. Anyway, I say, "Yes?" Pause, pause, pause...then..."Sarah." I yell, "What?" Again, nothing....water....silence from him.
I heave a sigh (why call my name, then not answer after I answer?), open the sliding glass door, and step in water. Yuck. Shawn comes in from the hallway, hauling towels, completely soaked on one side. He asks, "Where is the water shut off valve?" Meanwhile, underneath the kitchen sink, water is shooting out. Hard too. Not up, not down, but straight out into the kitchen. I panic. "It's out front!" He follows me as I try and run out the side door, almost slip because, duh, water all over the floor, and race to the front of the house. I am freaking out, trying to find the stupid nozzle, plus it's dark outside. The more flustered I get, the less my body obeys me. I think everyone has this problem when it's panic time. Except Shawn, which we will discuss more in detail later.
So I leave him fumbling with the stupid water handle thing as a thought occurs to me as I run back into the water-soaked kitchen. Just turn the water off under the sink right? Common sense, I tell myself. So I get in front of the sink, bad idea-water shooting out-remember? Okay, off to the side then. Reach in, trying blindly to find that water shut-off valve. I find it. Or, I should say, I found where it should be. The handle's not there. Water is shooting out where it should be. Ah, I see the handle now. It's floating in the pool that is our cabinet.
Shawn shuts off the main water line, and we can finally survey damage. Broken handle in my hand, check. Him soaked, check. Water turned off, check. Half an inch of water on the kitchen floor, check. Look out back, patio soaked with water, check. We start hauling more towels and paper towels to clean the mess. Oh, forgot this part. He takes the handle from me and says, "It busted." Check.
Haul out the rug to dry, mop up water, dog fur, and anything else that was originally on the floor. Should have swept and mopped earlier, like I planned. Finally, after many towels, a half a roll of paper towels, finagling the handle back on the valve (in the off position), he turns the main water back on. The kitchen does not flood. Water doesn't even drip from the sink valve. Cool-Shawn fixed it. I reach under to turn on the kitchen water, and it goes a little crazy. Okay, not fixed, but not leaking or shooting water like a geyser.
I must say, after all that water, I really had to pee. So I trot to the bathroom; he follows to wash his hands. I start giggling. "What," he asks me. "You really need to work on your panic voice." "My panic voice huh? Why?" I explain to him it sounds like his normal voice, thus me not coming right away when he needed my help. I hope I gave him food for thought.
Meanwhile, the bad thing is that I can't use my dishwasher or the kitchen sink until the valve is replaced. The good thing is I now do not have to sweep and mop. Check.
