El­sa Wrench

Note to self: do not leave tap run­ning in un­at­tend­ed bath­tub.

A do­mes­tic dis­as­ter of wa­tery char­ac­ter­is­tics be­fell me the oth­er day. I am still a lit­tle sog­gy from it. Ac­tu­al­ly, all that wa­ter on the floor made me feel a lit­tle guilty be­cause there are so many dry hous­es in de­hy­drat­ed neigh­bour­hoods where dusty, dessi­cat­ed peo­ple go with­out mois­ture for days. The guilt wore off in about 3.5 sec­onds be­cause I was much too busy rip­ping tow­els out of the cup­boards above the dry­er and stuff­ing them un­der doors to stanch the flood.

Peo­ple have called me ab­sent-mind­ed. But of late, it has be­come al­most a clin­i­cal di­ag­no­sis. Ei­ther that or pol­ter­geists have been hid­ing my cell phone in the re­frig­er­a­tor and steal­ing the cut­lery be­cause I am down to one good din­ner fork.

The flood which led to an un­sched­uled house clean­ing was al­most cause for strong drink be­cause I got to won­der­ing if I was com­ing down with that af­flic­tion which every woman over 35 fears–Turn­ing In­to One's Moth­er. I think I could stand any­thing ex­cept that.