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Trench Warfare

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It's a wee bit cold here. And it has been for some time.

And yesterday there was a bit of a thaw. (Foreshadowing. It's a literary technique.)

I blissfully went about my day, making granola and chocolate cake.

And then I had to go out into the garage.

Imagine my surprise to discover that the local river had decided to move into it. I caught her off guard, though, because she was still in the process of relocating. I know this because the unmistakable sound of a water faucet turn on full blast accosted me when I opened the door. For the record, I don't have accessible water faucets in my garage.

So, fully cognizant of the fact that I was playing the "I'm a girl" card, I called The Geek.

The Geek: Hello?

Me: The garage is flooding.

The Geek: The garage is flooding? Is anything on? The washing machine? The dishwasher?

Me: No! Nothing's on....nothing's running! (except for water. Into my garage. At the rate of 26 gallons a minute, I might add.)

The Geek: *Sigh* OK, do you remember how to turn off the water at the street?

Yeah.

There's this thing called the "water key". I think that's what it's called. It's about 5 feet long, with a crossbar up top, not unlike a christian cross, actually. It's made of iron and weighs about 26 pounds.

What one is required to do with this thing is bring it out to one's front yard (which at this point is as slick as a pristine frozen pond. I was Grace in action, rest assured, clomping around in The Boy's snow boots) find the manhole underneath all the ice, dig out the manhole cover from underneath all the ice (I've been meaning to add strength training to my workouts), lift up the manhole cover (another strenuous endeavor) and peer down into the depths of The Pearl.

This is where it happens. THIS is the spot that allows the city to bill me for my water usage. Down there lives the water meter. And, hidden among the frozen muck, the main shut-off valve.

Plus a nest of big, black hibernating beetles.

So I took the crucifix---water key---and started poking aroun....

Say you: Just STOP with the cross/crucifix thing. You're exaggerating.

Say me: I am not. Look!

OK, I really meant for this picture to be MUCH bigger so I could make my point much louder, but you get the drift.

At any rate--where was I?

Oh, yeah! Poking around. And poking around. And poking around some more (the beetles are bit cranky at this point) because naturally, I cannot find the ever loving shut off valve. And I really don't want to put my hands down there. Poke. Poke. POKE....

*****ThOinG*****

Mission accomplished! Now all I have to do is turn the cross---KEY---a half turn counter clockwise and I've done it.

Yeah.

Frozen tundra.

But I am Woman*, and I refuse to be made inconsequential by a shut-off valve.

Except, really? Frozen tundra. And DAMN if that valve wasn't hard to turn. I pushed. And pushed. And PUSHED (add gratuitous child birthing simile here).

ARGH!

And then......

Movement! MMMOOOOOVVVVVEEEEMMMEEEENNNNTTTTT

Whoo hoo!!! I DID it! I start dancing a little celebratory jig, I was so excited.

Just in time for The Geek to witness as he drove up in the driveway.

It was the washing machine, by the way. We're waiting on a part. Which means I have no means of washing my clothes in any sort of convenient manner for the next several days. Naturally, the laundry has been piling up and I really did have every intention of doing some loads last night.

And to add insult to injury, I was RICK ROLLED when I looked for a hyperlink on You Tube for a silly dancing number!! *head desk*