The sound – drip, drip – slowly enters my brain.
It’s the end of a hectic day. I have just settled in with a cup of hot tea to do the crossword puzzle, lulled into a state of relaxation by the quiet hum of the dishwasher running in the background.
But the drip, drip persists and strikes a discordant note.
I drag myself out of the chair and go to the kitchen to take a look. Panic sets in as soon as I see the water all over the wood floor – the steamy water streams from under the dishwasher door. I turn the dishwasher off and set it to “Cancel/Drain” and run all over the house collecting every spare towel I can find to sop up the mess. But the “drip, drip” continues like a bad dream.
The basement! I run down the stairs to find water dripping from the rafters – a veritable rain forest, complete with the smell of damp wood and humidity that makes my hair frizz up in seconds.
I race back upstairs to call my husband, my savior in these situations, and realize the water is still streaming from under the dishwasher door. When I open the machine, I see water pouring into the dishwasher from the side, unabated.
My husband talks me through shutting off the valve under the sink, but the water still pours in. Then he talks me through shutting the water off to the house. He is calm, he knows how to handle my panic. I know he will be home as soon as he can be – my knight in shining armor. He will know how to clean up this mess and what to do next. As always…