Go With the Flow, or 3 Rivers Run Through It

It was so cold for so long the pipes in our downstairs bathroom froze.  “Do something!” I squeaked to David when this first happened. “Ah, well. January you know,” said Mr. Implacable, troweling a mortar of mustard and mayo onto some cold cuts.

Then another foot of snow came, then that same day a thaw, then such downpours it started raining INSIDE the house. Water streamed down the window pane and formed a triple-branched river that coursed across the living room floor.  Was our house turning into to city of Pittsburgh perched on three rivers? In which case build us a stadium and send us to the Superbowl.

But “Do something!” was all I could again yip at the sight of the three rivers, the lace curtains I labored so to make now sagging with water wicked up from the floor.

“Hmmmm,” said Dave. “But then this kind of thing happens – and what can we do tonight but put down towels?”

So…. we put down towels. Then, since it’s 55 degrees at best in our downstairs come night we effected a strategic retreat: repaired to the upper levels to climb aboard the fair ship Forgetfulness where Old Dave went instantly horizontal.

Hell I thought, and kicked off my boots, shed my clothes fast and slithered quick into my high-necked nightie. I spread the heavy quilt on this life-raft of ours the SS Beautyrest.

The cats, already in their PJs, came aboard too. Outside, the rain still pelted. Inside, the floorboards gave off a smell like ancient documents.

I sighed and turned over. What can we do tonight? I thought too and in ten minutes’ time was asleep like the rest of them, two-legged and four.