A Nice Hot Bath

I am allergic to my own hair.

No, really. See, when I get my hair cut, the little bits of hair that are snipped off? The ones that land on your skin and your clothes and the floor? Yeah those ones. Wherever those little bits of hair touch my skin, I get hives.

No joke.

So when I got my hair cut today, I came home and ran a lovely bath, so I could get rid of the little bits and be hive-free.

As I lay in the water, I thought, "Gee, this is a nice bath."

But because I am me, that thought was short-lived.

I turned the water back on to run some flaming hot water into the bath, because a bath isn't really a bath unless you are scalded lobster-pot red. But because of the whole safety-first thing, I put a hand out to steady myself, so I would not fall forward and smack face-first into the faucet, knocking out half my teeth.

And as I leaned that hand against the wall, something happened. Something BAD.

The wall MOVED. And at first, I thought it was my hand, what with it being wet and all, but NO. The wall moved, and it moved IN. My hand dented the wall.

So first I thought, [WORD REDACTED].

Then I thought, "This couldn't happen when I wasn't all slippery and naked."

Then I thought, "What are the chances this isn't as bad as I think it is?"

Then I got out of the bath and (when sufficiently covered) went to get Mom (You don't get Dad in these situations. He tends to react badly).

"Mom," I said. "Could I borrow you for a moment? There's something you should take a look at."

And Mom came. And then she grabbed a nearby screwdriver and started ripping out tile while I stood there in my fluffy pink robe, my hair still dripping gently on my shoulders.

From what we can determine, there was a leak somewhere in a pipe that connects to the faucet of the tub. The leak slowly spread out from the faucet, causing a section of wall, about the size of my laptop, to become...structurally unsound.

Luckily, we have plenty of extra tile and were already planning on replacing the faucet.

Unluckily, this meant we had to call a plumber, and the plumber would come in who-knows-how-long, and he would fix the problem. And we had to tell Dad. Yeah.

So Mom got Dad.

"I hate to show you this now," she said sweetly. This was happening five minutes before his bedtime (and that is possibly the WORST time to approach him with a problem). "But better now than to have you walk into the bathroom tomorrow morning and see a bathtub filled with tile!"

The next thing I heard was a strange crumbling noise. And when I peered in to investigate, I saw Dad using his bare hands to rip tile off the wall. And then he tore out wall. He was like the Hulk, only smaller and less green.

Mom, meanwhile, went into her bedroom closet, because in the closet there is this little wooden panel that pulls away, revealing all the pipes and whatnot for the tub. I went over to see if there was a massive quantity of mold back there, a wise move for someone as violently allergic to mold as I am, but hey, I was curious.

As I stood behind Mom, I saw a hand reach through the wall and into the closet. This was especially freaky due to my viewing of The Woman in Black last Friday.

Then I withdrew to my room, leaving my parents conversing through the hole in the bathroom wall. How Shakespearean of them.

"You aren't listening to me," I heard Dad say.

"I am listening."

"You AREN'T LISTENING."

"I am.*"

Then I heard the sound of Dad pounding off into the living room. He lasted less than five minutes. He panics when things go wrong.

So now, we have no bathtub that we can use, because there is a gaping hole in the wall. The shower in the basement is infested with spiders as big as my hand, so that is a terrifying option.

When I mentioned to Mom that this meant we couldn't use the tub until the plumber came, she looked at me calmly and said, "Well, you're clean now, at least!"

Behold, the hole in the bathroom wall.

More tile will need to come out to remove all the plaster that was water-damaged. The affected area is mostly visible on the side of the wall in the room where a Very Angry Guy Who Should Be Left Alone is sleeping, but you get the idea.

*For the record, Mom is so much nicer than I am. And she was so totally listening.