September 14, 2003 ~ A Disagreement

Sunday.

"Come look! I fixed it. No drips," Morgan yelled from the bathroom, where he had been working on our leaky faucet.

I dutifully came in, grabbed the hot water faucet... and it wouldn't turn. I frowned, tried the other direction, and the water squirted out. "Augh!! It's the wrong way!"

"No it's not."

"Yes it is!! Ack! That's disconcerting." I tried the cold, same thing. "No, really, they're both the wrong way."

"They are not! I put them back on exactly the same. They can't be the wrong way."

"Well, turning on the water is an automatic gesture, and my muscle memory is seriously frustrated with you right now."

"I swear they're right. You've forgotten."

"Rubbish. I've not. See, it's supposed to be 'lefty loosey, righty tighty.' But it's not! It's lefty tighty, righty loosey, and I'll not abide with such shoddy logic."

"You're crazy."

"Have you tried it?" I asked.

"Yes, no problems, they're the right way."

"I think you should try it again. They're the wrong way."

"No they're not," he said conclusively as he reached for the faucet, got a look of surprise as the way that he automatically turned didn't work, then tried to cover it up with a natural turn of the wrist the wrong direction. "See?"

"HEY! I saw you! You tried to turn it the right way and it didn't work. HA!"

"No I didn't."

"You did too!"

He tried to hide a smile. "You're batty."

"ARG!! You're impossible."

"I love you," he said in a silly sing-song voice with an evil grin, as he started to take the faucet back apart.

Footnotes:

weather: Cool.

bookmarked: Beloved.

writing focus: Email.

observation: Migrating butterflies.

historical diary: (New category! Got an anthology of excerpts from famous diaries at the bookstore today.)

"On board a blind man singing to a harmonium played by a woman: 'Became blind at fifteen.' 'Those feel it less who are born blind,' I suggested. 'Perhaps,' he answered, 'but I am glad to have seen the world.'"

~ William Allingham, in his diary September 14, 1865.

online journals:

"We cross before the light changes. A mass of humanity surging forward. Coming toward us is a buxom lass with the buttons straining on a shirt that is just 'that much' too small."

~ Deb in this entry of Deb's Place.

And John, in this entry of Journal of a Writing Man:

"Look at this," he said, and gave a great huuhhhhh into the night air, producing a plume of steamy breath.

"Oh, wow!" I said, and did my own huuhhhhh.

Picture it, then, two grown blokes standing under the stars, having fun producing great breath plumes in the chill autumn air.

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