Plumb Happy

 

A few days ago I mentioned to consort that the kitchen faucet was leaking again and asked whether he might tighten things up.  Consort suggested the faucet was unable to be further tightened and it was finally time to replace the entire fixture.  Deferring to his knowledge and expertise (as I always do), I happily agreed.

Through the years in our sticks-and-bricks home, consort and I did a lot of remodeling.  We gutted rooms, pulled up carpets, sanded floors, hung sheet rock, including the mandatory mud and tape; pulled out load-bearing walls and replaced them with headers.  The list is endless.  There were two categories, however, for which we lacked the necessary skills:  electrical and plumbing.  We still never work with electricity, but we have tried our hand a few times at plumbing issues with mixed results.  So when consort volunteered to replace the faucet himself, I was skeptical of his optimism, but impressed with his willingness.  We do, after all, live by our life-long mantra of, How bad can it be?

We spent around a half hour or so at the local Home Depot yesterday picking out a faucet and discussing with the well-informed store clerk what parts we might need to adapt the faucet to a fifth-wheel.  The guy knew his business and it wasn't long before we were on our way.

This morning we cleared all the storage from under the sink, so that consort could get to work.  The area, although a great repository for bulky items, is really quite small.  About half of the area is inaccessible due to plumbing pipes.  As you can see from the pictures above, it was an extraordinary act of contortion to just get in and out of the cramped spot.

D.O.G. was allowed to roam about the trailer while we were working.  (And, yes, I am using the royal we.  In actuality, I really did nothing more than take pictures and offer helpful advice, like, If you want to crawl back out from under there, I'll put a little fan under there for you; you look awful hot.)  D.O.G. has been around long enough to endure the remodeling at the sticks-and-bricks.  He knows it's in his best interests to stay out of the way.  

Fulton, on the other hand, is a curious cat.  And let me just stop here for a moment and say that there really is a reason for the old adage, Curiosity killed the cat.  The saying is founded in reality.  You can trust me on this.

That being the case, Fulton was consigned to an inferior position closed up in the bedroom.  When Fulton first arrived, he was able to easily slip from room to room under the doors.  Now, as a fully mature two-year-old, he's much too fat large and becomes wedged somewhere in the middle between here and there.

After a mere 90 minutes, most of which was spent removing the old hardware, consort had a new working faucet installed.  We are thrilled with the detachable sprayer.  Isn't it funny how such little things can bring such great joy?  Unfortunately, I'm afraid the joy will be short-lived, at least for consort, as I am already eyeballing the faucet in the bathroom.  It makes me think of  Harry Nilsson singing Think about your Troubles.