Humble Pie, Part Deux

You might have thought, all’s well that ends well. You would be wrong. I mentioned the six month old faucet that began shooting water in every direction whenever it was activated. I should also note that it was still under warranty and had other problems as well.  Like it refused to swivel from one sink to the other.  Well, the faucet was replaced with the sink. That old faucet cost somewhere in the neighborhood of $90.00. That’s an expensive neighborhood from my end of the budget. We had all of the necessary paperwork and receipts, and my husband was going to take it back to Lowes and just see if they would refund the money. We knew it was a long shot, but, any excuse to go to the home improvement store is valid.

He bundled up the discarded faulty faucet into a grocery bag, and asked, “Where’s the soap dispenser and pump that came with it?” I’m sure the color drained from my face as I vaguely recall chucking it into the trash to clear the counter of unnecessary clutter. Last week. “Um, uh, I’ll be right back.” This was trash day, and our trash heap was quite tall out at the curb, as we forgot to take the trash out in a timely manner last week. So, I was standing at the curb in my mismatched sweats, sleeping t-shirt, with disheveled hair, just in time to see everyone in the neighborhood off to work and school. I’m sure they were thinking to themselves “that crazy homeschooling lady is rummaging through her own garbage, again.” I had just a moment of dread before I dove into the pile of trash bags. I knew it would be gross, but I was not prepared for what actually happens to kitchen trash when left in a warm garage, for a week.

I’m just about the only one in our home who ever throws anything into the kitchen garbage pail, so you would think I would have a running tally of it’s contents. Not so. I did recognize the moldy black bananas, and the melted carton of Starbucks Ice Cream, now streaming between my bare toes and down the sidewalk. Why in the name of all that is good and holy would I toss a perfectly good carton of Starbucks Ice Cream? I bought it before The Diet. I threw it away in a state of panic to keep from devouring it during times of duress. Like now. But there were some things in my kitchen garbage that had morphed into some science experiment, that not even I could name. I had coffee grounds up to my armpits, and egg shells under my finger nails, but I pressed on. After two bags, no pump. I looked under the discarded scarred sink at the curb, and there was pay dirt, the third bag of garbage was the charm. But the pump was at the bottom. I emerged brushing old cottage cheese from my cheek. At least I think it was cottage cheese.

“Where have you been?” my husband looked up from his coffee. I leveled my gaze at him, “I found the pump” as I tossed it into the bag on my way to a much deserved shower. Later, he went back to Lowes, only to be turned away. He was told to call the manufacturer.

Which I did.

“Phil” informed me that the best they could do was to send a replacement part. I explained to him, in my best business voice, that we had already hired a plumber and replaced the entire faucet. He said he would send the replacement part anyway, and perhaps I could use it in my garden. What?

“My garden? I don’t have a garden. And if I did, it’s not likely that I would keep a sink in it.” This may be where my best business voice changed to shrill angry housewife voice. I seldom get very far with angry housewife voice. And add to angry housewife voice, two bickering children in the background voices, and there’s a sure recipe for a quarter in the cuss jar. So, I politely excused myself from “Phil” and told him I would sic my husband on him discuss the matter with my husband and get back to him.

At this point, the matter is still unresolved. And I’m almost certain that I need the Homeowners Association’s permission to install a sink in my garden. Once I get permission for the garden, that is.