Miss Girly Penny

My sink is stopped up. The one in the kitchen. It's not my fault, how this happened was a mystery.

Loyal Blog Monkeys know that Number One daughter is hugely pregnant and due at any moment. However, she has not yet cleaned anything. There is some rule that says a pregnant woman must precede labor by a mad cleaning spree. At 11 days over due, Number One has not cleaned a darn thing. She hasn't even wiped at anything.

So, in mortal fear of her remaining pregnant forever I decided that perhaps I could satisfy the rule with a little pre-labor cleaning by proxy. I looked around the house... Hmmmm. "What would I clean if I were hugely pregnant and 11 days over due??"

I'd clean out the fridge.

That fridge is a repository of so many unclaimed and unwanted and unloved-in-the-end containers of left overs. I can clean that out, wipe the shelves, wash up the tupperware (no little r in a circle but you know as well as I do that's a trade mark) and get this labor started!

First I dug it all out. It spanned the counter in a daunting way but I was not afraid. I was gonna just zip right through that. Pry off lids, dump stuff into the disposal... lather, rinse, repeat. I was cooking along, about half way finished when I dumped the Christmas gravy down and the sink mysteriously and without a damn good reason backed up with mucky, greasy water. I have no idea why. It's just contentious I think. Pissy bastard of a sink, who needs you?

The phone rings. So, I have to suppress my tears of frustration. Damn sink. Backing up with out a good reason.

"Hullo?"

"Hey." Its the Bartender. "What are you doing?"

Penny explains the sink. Penny explains the need to lie down on the kitchen floor and just cry. He says

"I'll come over and fix it for you."

That should of made me happy but it didn't. I need to fix the f'in sink by myself. I'll snake it. Or I'll get a wrench and open it up and clean whatever mystery substance clogged it... Mystery Substance. IT WAS NOT MY FAULT!

"No. I'll fix it. You need to go to work. Don't worry about it. It's my problem. I'm the mommy."

So he says this to me "I will call you when I'm off work and if it's still clogged up I'll come over and fix it."

"Just how will you fix it? You might as well just tell me what to do."

"I'm a MAN. We fix stuff. We don't know how we do it, we just do it."

So I say, very quietly, "Whatever."

"This will give you an excuse to ignore it till I call you."

VERY LONG PAUSE HERE.

"Why would I do that?"

His voice has that "well duh" tone "Cause then I'll come over and fix it for you."

And in this moment I have a crystalline second of pure clarity. That's what girls do. They cry weakness, bat their lashes and wait for a man to rescue them. In fact, I saw this idiotic ploy on that TV show, what is it? About the housewives. Some tittering woman with socks and barbies intentionally shoved down her drain and the man on the floor, wrench in hand, come 'round to save her.

Bleck.

As it stands right now the sink is still 2/3rds full of disgusting water and effluent I do not care to describe. And when the phone rings later I will cheerfully report that it is fully repaired, operational, and scrubbed with comet to a sparkling shine. No matter what condition it is actually in. Because I refuse to be that girl.

I just wish I knew what had stopped it up to begin with...