Member-only story
If I Didn’t Feel Like A Failure, I Wouldn’t Feel Anything At All
I finally broke down and called a plumber to fix my toilet. I’ve been nursing it along for months, talking to it, standing with my ear pressed to the tank like a safe cracker listening for the tumblers.
I was the Toilet Whisperer.
A few weeks ago, I went to Home Depot and stood for what felt like hours in the plumbing aisle, weighing the merits of each and every intake valve available (there were three). And with my prize in hand, I trundled back home and promptly procrastinated putting it in.
One big problem was that I couldn’t turn the water off at the tank. The 16-year-old valve was frozen tight and no amount of grunting and straining on my part was going to turn it. I spritzed it with WD-40 because that’s just what you do.
Nada. (Is it wrong that I really like the smell of WD-40? Probably.)
But I could turn the water off at the main. And the intake valve package assured me the valve was UNIVERSAL and would fit EVERY TOILET KNOWN TO MAN.
But what if it didn’t? I started having The Lucy Show visions of water pouring in a frothy wave from my bathroom and inundating my house.
