I had the most disturbing dream last night, in which I was telling my mom that the sink had come apart, that the kitchen has flooded and that I wasn’t looking forward to cleaning up the mess.
Only it wasn’t a dream. Which I realized when I padded out there this morning.
Now I remember putting the dishes and skillet in the sink last night to clean up after Phil’s delectable Sole Picatta—can’t let that fishy smell marinate overnight—and while the water was warming up, I popped the lemon halves into the disposal. The disposal chewed merrily for a few seconds, and then petered out.
Huh. That’s odd.
I flipped the switch off and peered inside. It looked as though a gear had come loose, so I reached in and felt… around… over there.. and over here… is that the underside of the sink? I was TOUCHING the SINK. Why was I TOUCHING the SINK? And then something shifted and the disposal fell away from sight.
I ripped open the cabinet doors and let loose a flood of soapy, fishy water, replete with lemon shreds, and gazed at the disposal hanging at an odd angle, and at the pipe that had come out of its joint, and followed along to the pipe that joins with the sink’s drain… which was… um… swinging like your Uncle Mary.
Phil groaned when I told him this morning, and again when I suggested that now there was something to kill the time between when he got out early from proctoring finals until I got home late from work today.
“Most of the stuff under the sink has been cleared out, right?”
He groaned again. So, just now, after dropping the kids at school, I cleared away the beach towel I’d stuffed in there and checked the stainless mixing bowl I’d wedged under the pipes. It actually wasn’t so bad under there. I’d re-fitted the sink’s drain pipe and moved the the disposal wing off to the side. There wasn’t much water in the bowl, and then I realized that was because a Tupperware bin had caught roughly a gallon of water instead. Which would have been great news if it hadn’t contained all our medicines and first aid supplies. You’d never guess that a tube of Neosporin would bloat up like a beached Humpback whale on a warm summer’s day.
So I began evacuating the Space Under the Sink. I pulled out the cannisters, the spare plastic grocery bags, the paper grocery bags which now crumpled nicely into the plastic bags, the net bag of sponges—oh, this was classic—that had swelled with water and bulged out of every hole in the netting, the sodden box of Swiffer Wet Jet pads which now looked like a pile of water-soaked panty liners, a roll of duct tape, two rolls of paper towels that would make great replacement sponges, and a partridge in a pear tree.
And now, I’m off to the shower to get ready for work and floss my brain.