When I have enough energy, I try to be a little handy around the house on the weekends. I might change the batteries in the remote controls. Or I might move the sofa so Lisa can vacuum underneath it. Handy stuff like that.
But today, I actually tried to do something handy: fix a slow draining tub. I did a Google and YouTube search on how to remedy a slow drain and felt comfortable enough to do it myself. So I grabbed my tools and attempted to save myself a hundred dollars.
The first step was to dislodge any loose hairs in the drain. I took an old wire hanger, cut it, and made a little hook on the end. I stuck it down the drain and fished around for anything. Nothing came up.
The second step was to plunge the tub. I removed the stopper, stuffed the hole with a small towel, filled the tub with a little hot water, and then plunged away. Soon, the tub began filling up with a lot of debris. At first I was excited, but as I continued I became a little nauseous at the site of hair clumps floating in a murky soup of brown. I removed the small towel, but the tub was not draining. Oh oh.
The third step was to use a plumbing snake. I borrowed one from a friend at work, and pushed the wire down the drain. I went several feet down until I came to a stop. I pushed as hard as I could, but the snake would not go down any further. As my first girlfriend said, "You have problems with holes."
Sadly, there was nothing else I could do so I called a plumber. Within thirty minutes, he arrived with a powered snake that had a reach of 80 feet. I watched him maneuver the snake down the drain until he was able to push the clog into the main sewage line. I was so happy to see our tub drain; I was not so happy to see him pull out the snake with a tribble made of human hair.
Emma was very curious why there was a plumber inside the bathroom, so Lisa had to explain why the tub was not draining.
"The plumber is here because there is a lot of hair in the pipes. And that's why the water is not draining," explained Lisa.
"Hair?" gasped Emma. "My hair?"
"Yes," said Lisa.
"Andrew's hair?" asked Emma.
"Mommy's hair?" continued Emma.
"Daddy's hair?" questioned Emma.
"Even Daddy's hairy knee hairs?" said Emma pointedly.
As if my day wasn't embarrassing enough to my masculinity, my three year old daughter has to make fun of the only place on my body that has hair besides my head. Why won't the women of the house leave my knees alone?