Wednesday was our first night at the house with most of our stuff. Some last minute things are still not finished and the shower in our micro-bathroom (more on this amazing architectural marvel in a later post) had not yet been dealt with.
The next morning, I scrambled around for a towel (settling for a retired bath towel now used for cleaning) and went on to use the shower. I turned on the hot water and waited. And waited. And then realized it was as hot as it was going to get. I turned on the shower and figured the trickle of warm water was going to have to do.
This morning, back to the shower of sadness I went; the location of the box of towels still unknown. The new shower head was a reprieve from the trickle of the old one, but I guess it doesn’t much matter when there really isn’t enough hot water to wash off the soap.
I’ve been working crazy long hours on a project and been coming home feeling like a drunk zombie. Two more weeks and the project will be over and I will have all the time in the world to hunt down some towels and give the boiler a good stern talking to.
Pingback: A tale of broken pipes, or the end of the Shower of Sadness « A Pink Brownstone in Brooklyn