Tub no longer draining. Did I let a Thomas the Tank Engine ColorForm slip down the hole at end of one of Miles’ baths? Nope, they’re all accounted for. Borrow a snake, unscrew the drain insert, snake won’t make it around the bend. Into the abyss — under the house on belly like a lizard, dirt in hair. Looks like once-upon-a-time workmen busted up the old tub with a sledgehammer — a great pile of foot-long jagged steel shards beneath the tub. Unscrew hose clamps from the rubber collar that conjoins downtube with S-curve. Jam snake into place, crank, crank, sweat, crank, cuss, crank. Feel like I’m getting nowhere, back it out, LO! : Massive wad of wife hair, eight inches long and as wide as the drainpipe itself, comes slithering out into my hand. A solid pound of hair and slime, paydirt! Re-assemble, slither back out, test from up top, scour the tub, leave hair prize out on display for all to enjoy.
Hard to describe why a job like this is so rewarding; perhaps it has to do with spending so many hours in front of a screen every day — getting your hair in the dirt and your hands in the goo is strangely satisfying. Life is rich.