There are times when I wish I had married a plumber. Like yesterday. When I first heard the drip, drip, drip coming from the shower head. I don't have a particular plumber in mind, and I've never dated a plumber, but the rates of the average plumber usually send me into this fantasy world. My fantasy plumber will look like George Clooney and will wear a belt with no hint of plumber crack... Alas, that's not the case. My husband is gifted in other ways but not the plumbing arts. More often than not, it's me who tackles these little home maintenance duties.
If you've ever questioned how much clean water is being wasted from a drippy faucet, question no more. I placed our "gray water" bucket under the drip and it filled to 5 gallons in a day.
Unlike a real plumber, I don't have any of the proper tools or parts or any know-how. Armed with a home improvement book, I have to take something apart before I can figure out what might be wrong. Today I started with the least expensive part first -- a rubber gasket that looked old and cracked near where the drip was coming from. One trip to the hardware store and 24 cents later, I returned home, put everything in place.... Drip, drip, drip. Sigh.... Muttered a few choice words.
Back to the hardware store. This time I bought a whole new inline vacuum breaker dealy-bob. Returned home $15.99 poorer. Installed the thing. Went down to the basement to turn the water main back on. Said a prayer on each and every step coming back upstairs: please don't be dripping any more. please don't be dripping any more. please-please-please.
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