Rats in our pipes
We're in the midst of getting ready for our annual Camping Extravaganza, and what an extravaganza it will be! And when I say "we", I mean me.
This year, for the first time ever, the kids are each inviting a friend along, mostly as offerings to the bears that seem to always find our campsite. Every.Single.Year.
I actually developed the whole "Bring a Friend" idea earlier this year, as I worried and thought about this year's camping trip and what I was pretty sure would happen if we didn't change things. Last year, Em had reached a point in her camping experience whereby she no longer wanted to have anything to do with smoke, tents, dirt or bears. If the bear looked like Orlando Bloom, however, she'd be happy. Whatever.
So, this week is all about getting ready, as in, getting out sleeping bags, buying food, organizing everything, washing clothes, packing clothes, packing, packing, packing. Oh, and did I mention our pipes are clogged and we can't use the washing machine or the dishwasher? Yeah, didn't think so.
I guess that means many things are at a standstill, which would probably be the case anyway because I'm quite lazy at the best of times.
Not only that, but I opened the washing machine before the plumber arrived, and I almost passed out from the reek that emanated. I mean, it was enough to kill a zombie. Or ten. And I don't really know why, because the towels that I had been washing when the world fell apart in our basement had just been in the water for a couple of days maximum. But the smell...OH THE SMELL.
So, the plumber came, he saw and he conquered, unplugging the whoozits in the basement, fixing a washing machine pipe leak, and then unclogging our upstairs bathtub, which ended up having approximately two years' worth of hair in its belly. When the plumber pulled the disgusting wad of grossness out, I thought it was actually two wet rats mating, because that's how big and disgusting it was.
And then the plumber went on ranting about how this is obviously all women's fault because no one else would have hair this long, and I argued with him, stating that Mr. Handsome was losing his hair and did he not know that EVERYTHING THAT GOES WRONG IS MR. HANDSOME'S FAULT? Clearly, he didn't.
Anyway, I have a lot of packing and organizing to do. Or not.