I Am Woman [part II]

Continued from part I

I know why Boz is ringing my bell.

It's because I have a package for him that Liz, our postie, wasn't able to deliver to him on Friday because he wasn't home and it didn't fit into his mailbox. She saw me, knows me, knows I know Boz, knows Boz knows me, knows about the sailing adventure, and knows I like Boz.

Posties know a lot about their customers.

So that Friday afternoon I sent Boz an email to let him know I had his, ahem, package, and then I put some mascara on. I made sure all day Friday and all day Saturday I had mascara on, just in case he came over. But when I hadn't heard from him by Sunday morning I figured it was safe to go mascaraless to Home Depot. I figured it would take me a couple of hours, max, to complete my postmodern plumbing project &mdash and after that I could clean up and put the mascara back on. I figured Boz must be away for the weekend, and that I'd see him or hear from him on Monday.

Naturally, as soon as I let the mascara down, he shows up at my door.

I can't not answer. He knows I have it, and he probably knows I'm here. He knows my car. And if I don't answer he'll get annoyed at not having whatever it is that's in that envelope. He's like that: fussy.

Why, oh why, must it be that without fail, every time Boz sees me, I look like something the cat dragged out from under a car and brought into the house? What is it that I have done, oh Lord, that you hate me so?

I open the door.

"I hear you've been playing postie," says Boz. He's smiling.

Actually, I was hoping we could play Post Office.

"Yes I have. Come on in."

"I can't, I have to get back."

Boz is all business, like I told you before.

"Just come in for a minute and close the door so the cat doesn't get out. I have to get your envelope; it's upstairs."

He steps inside and closes the door. He's never been inside my place before. Only as far as the outer door, once, after the building's picnic two years ago, when he helped me bring home the leftover beer in a big plastic crate. But he was married then.

He's in the foyer, at the bottom of a short flight of stairs that leads up to my townhouse proper. I'm in the kitchen, where I was smart enough to have put his envelope. I knew that if I were to leave it on the shelf just inside my door, he wouldn't have to come in to retrieve it.

Yes, Gentle Reader, I actually thought that through back on Friday.

"I was just about to embark on a plumbing project," I call down the stairs cheerily. "Do you want to see?"

Do you want to have a look at my pipes?

I hear him coming up the stairs. "I can only stay a minute," he says. But in the end, he stays for twenty. One of the things that I like about Boz is, he's a bad leaver. Just like my dad and me.

He admires my new faucet. We compare gripes about the cheap fixtures the builder installed. He notices the Volkswagen photos and posters on my wall, and asks about my 1967 Beetle. I tell him about my mother's Pacer, too. He asks what the letters on my sweatshirt mean, and I tell him that's the university where I'm doing my PhD. He knows about that, and asks how it's going.

Ask him out! Ask him out!

I'm curious about what's in the envelope, but I don't ask, and he doesn't offer.

Maybe it's his divorce papers.

* * *
Now that Boz is gone, I put on The Tragically Hip's "That Night In Toronto" DVD and climb back under the counter. I was at the concert when they filmed that, so I know how long it is. I figure, by the time it's over I'll have my new faucet ready to go.

The Hip are into their third encore, Boots or Hearts, and the timing is perfect. All I have left to do is re-connect the hot and cold water pipes, and Bob's my uncle.

That's when I realize the pipes extending from the new faucet are about 6" short of reaching the end of the water delivery pipes to which they must be connected. I scratch my head, rubbing the WD-40 deeper into my hair, and wonder how it is that I just this minute noticed that.

Reminds me of the time in high school that my friend Jerry and I installed new speakers in my Volkswagen Beetle. We installed them on the door panels, because there's really no other place to put them in a 1967 Beetle. It was a beautiful, warm, July evening. Jerry lived in St. Catharines, and I had promised to drive him home when we were finished. That's me; car girl. Always driving the boys home.

It was only when we hit the highway and picked up speed that we decided to roll up the windows, and discovered that we couldn't.

So it's back to Home Depot I go, 9.5 km one way, where I have no doubt they'll have some sort of extension pipe. In situations like this I always remind myself, it's unlikely you're the first person in the world to have this problem. Many faucets are installed every day around the world, right?

I take the old piece of shit, my Price Pfister faucet, with me. I learned early on in my home renovation career never to throw away the old part until you're damned certain the new one fits. I thought maybe they could cut some of the copper piping off of it, if that's what I was going to need. I mean, why buy a new 8' piece of copper pipe when all you need is six inches, and there's about 12 inches of perfectly serviceable pipe attached to the old faucet?

An hour later, after a brief consultation with Hal, who actually smiled when I told him what a goof I'd been to not notice that the pipes weren't long enough to reach each other, I'm back home, two 30 cm flexible polymer braid faucet extensions, $5.88 each, in my hot little hands.

(Did you know the French word for faucet is robinet? In Canada, everything must be labelled in French and English, so not only am I learning new plumbing vocabulary, I'm learning it in French, too.)

I attach one end to the water deliver pipe, remembering to use Donny's two handed wrench technique.

I'm almost done now.

Except for one thing: the other end of the extension doesn't fit onto the Moen faucet pipe.

But how can this be? I showed Hal exactly what I needed. Hal is my second favourite plumbing associate at the St. Clair Avenue Home Depot. Hal would not steer me wrong!

So back to Home Depot I go, one last time. But first, I go next door to AC's to use his bathroom. My water's been turned off all day, remember?

An hour later I'm back in aisle 9 at Home Depot, and there's Aziz. I'm awfully happy to see him, because I'm not so sure I trust Hal now. I tell Aziz my latest problem.

"Which brand of faucet did you buy?" he asks.

"Moen."

"You need this piece, then."

Hal had given me the extension pieces that fit a Price Pfister faucet, because that's what I had in my hand. It didn't occur to me they'd be different.

Back home, I'm polishing my new faucet with Windex. It shines like a beautiful chrome cubic zirconia. Then I put the Tupperware back under the counter, take the toolbox back upstairs, gather up the old faucet, the old chrome plate, and the old sprayer hose, go downstairs to the garbage room, and toss them gleefully into the garbage bin.

The crashing sound the Price Pfister faucet makes as it hits the side of the bin makes the whole weekend worth it.

Epilogue

I learned a great deal last weekend, Gentle Reader, and would like to share these lessons with you. I hope they'll help you, in some small way, one day.

1. The Tragically Hip is perfect music to plumb by.


2. It's true what they say about WD-40.


3. Whey you're lying on your back looking up, you turn bolts and screws left to loosen them, and right to tighten them, just as you do when you're standing up.


4. It's easier to hold the adjustable wrench still in your left hand, and turn the fixed width wrench with your right hand.


5. Teflon tape is cool.


6. You don't need plumber's putty to make a seal between the faucet plate and the countertop if you buy a Moen faucet. They come with a fitted rubber pad for that express purpose.


7. Always wear mascara, even when doing home renovations.

* * *

Now that her kitchen sink looks gorgeous, Postmodern Sass needs a new toaster to go with it.