My plumber and my hairstylist are across the street from each other in the Fan, and their phone numbers start with 358. Guess whose phone number I have memorized?   It’s hard to know whose services I require more urgently, but with 55 year old pipes and 48 year old hair,  (not to mention the 48 year old hair in the 55 year old pipes), I see my plumber more often than the stylist. I’m afraid I disappoint them both for different reasons. I never let anybody color or do much of anything with my hair and my home’s pipes are a constant source of what you would expect and an occasional source of an unhappy surprise that we should have expected.  It’s humbling to be a disappointment to one’s plumber, but I’ve learned to accept it. They’ve learned to accept my checks.

That’s not to say that my home’s bathrooms look any better than I do. In fact, I generally am cleaner than my bathrooms.  And I have a much nicer set of pipes–far superior to the corroding, deteriorating pipes crisscrossing my poor old house. Something to be proud of, I suppose.

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