I know part of being an adult is having money in savings so that when you need a new water heater, you just pull the money out of savings and voila! It is paid for.
But man, I’m still not great at this “Put money in savings” business. I mean, I do it, regularly, but not with a grown-up amount of money. And so todays adventure leaves $50 in my savings account.
I hope we don’t have any disasters that cost more than $50 after this.
But, really, as far as unlucky things go, this was a very lucky thing. It was in the garage, the plumber could replace it right away, and I have the money to pay for it and the vacation time to sit here while they do it.
We have not always been so lucky. So, I’m wigged out, but I’m really grateful, too.
I fret quite a bit, but I’m not a good waiter. Like, I’ve been waiting for the plumbers since noon and they just now called to say it’s going to be closer to 2:30 before they get here and I could be doing things like picking up or reading a book or playing with the dog, but I’m just kind of sitting here feeling anxious, since both my dad and my brother are convinced that I’m going to need a new water heater and it will be very expensive.
Granted, they are doing this diagnosis over the phone, based solely on their desire to freak me the fuck out, but there we are. I shouldn’t have posted that I was waiting for the plumber on Facebook, since that’s what spurred them to call.
I also wish we had something chocolaty in the house, but we do not.
I also wish I hadn’t eaten Sonic for lunch. The trouble with getting old is that, when you’re younger, you’re like “Ooo, chicken fried steak sandwich! It’s so bad for me!” and when you get to be my age, you realize, it doesn’t even matter that it’s “bad” for you. It matters that it so quickly makes me feel like shit.
I don’t eat a lot of fried foods, but damn it, I really need to cut them out completely. Not for my long-term health. Just for my everyday well-being.
The Butcher said “Have a nice day, Betsy” and walked out the door. Then he came back in and said, “Um, something’s leaking in the garage.” And I said, “God damn it. Go to work.” Not together. But you know, “God damn it, something’s leaking and someone will have to take care of it and you can’t NOT go to work so it will have to be me so you go to work and I’ll figure out what the fuck to do.”
Which, yes, means basically calling the plumber, but it means calling the plumber and taking the time off work.
When shit like this happens, I seriously don’t know how single or working parents do it. I just have two grown-ups in my house and I find coordinating and arranging this kind of emergency crap to be very stressful.
Hats off to you today, parents.