The drain plug do-dah in my bathroom sink broke a few years ago. It’s on my to-do list to fix. Somewhere between replacing the entire sink and moving to another house.
In the interim, I purchased an old fashioned stopper. Which I store under the sink. Behind the industrial sized bottle of Suave Shampoo that I’ve deemed to harsh for my delicate hair.
I have a not unfounded fear of losing something valuable down the black hole that is my bathroom sink. I’ve already lost a favorite Mickey Mouse shaped birthstone earring. And I live in dread of ever losing my wedding ring down the drain.
Which is why whenever I put on earrings or my wedding ring, I move far down the counter to the middle. In-between my sink and the sink that belongs to Fiddledaddy. In other words. No mans land. The only clean area on the counter.
Today, I was working on my side of the sink, replacing the batteries in our automatic shower sprayer. Which is an amazing appliance, btw. Kind of like a maid in a canister.
The premise is that you start with a clean shower, and then every time you exit your shower after use, you press a button. A beeper sounds, and you know that you have a measly 15 seconds to get the heck out of the shower before you get cleaner shot into your eyes.
Rending you blind.
But at least your shower stays clean. Not that you can see it any longer.
So today, after I exited the shower, I pressed the magic button to shoot out the cleaner. Nothing. No beeping. Silence.
I mumbled something under my breath about the stupid thing being broken, and from the next room Fiddledaddy suggested I replace the batteries.
Batteries? Who knew.
So I did. Only when I got to the 4th battery, it slipped from my hands, now full of cleaning solution from the bottle, and rocketed right down the drain.
I heard a clunk. Signaling that it had reached the curve in the elbow of the pipe. I must say that I was surprised that the fall was not cushioned by All The Hair and dreadful disgustedness that most certainly is contained therein.
I held my breath and considered my choices for a few seconds. My first inclination of course was to pretend it never happened. A favorite coping mechanism.
But then, I began to immediately imagine battery acid mixed with astringent, and then my picture being flashed across the evening news.
I let out an audible sigh of dismay.
“What happened?” floated in from the next room.
“I dropped a battery down the drain.”
“YOU DID WHAT?” About that time each and every child found their way into the cramped bathroom to check out the latest catastrophe.
I fielded questions from Jensen left and right, as I weighed my options. In my mind, I was already emptying the contents below the sink and taking apart the pipes. But not before forgetting to turn the water off at the main valve.
The entire bathroom would flood, and I would then finally have an excellent excuse to rid myself of the cheap discolored linoleum that has plagued me since we built this house.
I was jolted from my thoughts. “I have an idea,” Fiddledaddy offered.
I was hoping he would say we should move.
Then he fashioned an instrument of retrieval which can only be described as brilliant.
He took a coat hanger and attached a magnet at the end with duct tape. (The magnet was from one of those games that has magnet links and little magnet balls the size of marbles which have been all over the news because children have swallowed them and died. We now store that game on top of the refrigerator until Jensen is 18.)
He then attached a string to the bottom to be better able to maneuver the whole thing once it descended the drain.
After a few minutes he emerged victorious.
I’m thinking that he should patent this. Packaging would be tricky. But I think that is must be pretty common to lose a battery down the bathroom sink.
Am I wrong?