The Shower of Sadness

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.

One thought on “The Shower of Sadness

  1. Pingback: A tale of broken pipes, or the end of the Shower of Sadness « A Pink Brownstone in Brooklyn

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