We discovered a leak under the kitchen sink. It had gotten so damn cold in this house the pipes must have froze up. So, we shut off the problem at its source, turned the red knob at the bottom of the basement stairs, and washed dishes with icy water for a week. With near frostbitten fingers I decided it was time I take a look. Lying on my back, with a styrofoam pillow, and a pipe wrench in my hand I discovered a dank new world of pipes, nozzles, warped tack paper, and mildew stained particle board. I felt like a spelunker, like an archaeologist. I felt like that woman from Eve Ensler's Vagina Monologues who has just seen her vag for the first time and is stunned speechless in amazement. I felt empowered.
I twisted, turned, knocked, banged and sighed. The lack of wiggle room frustrated the hell out of me, but after an hour of turning the nut a millimeter at a time, I was satisfied with the adjustment. My rewarded was a pile of dirty dishes begging to be washed with steaming hot suds. And, oh, it was good.
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