truceville

So after much snot bubbling was had on Monday, and lots of words thrown around, Ex S and I have decided to call a truce. I don’t owe him anything, and he doesn’t owe me anything. We have, over the last two days, blown up at each other, cried, asked torturous questions about our new lovers, and have finally passed the olive branch conclusively.

It was established that the reason we are collectively hurt is because we still care deeply for each other, possibly because we were together longer than many people are married these days. It was also established that I am not strong enough to see him just yet, knowing that he is with that girl, and we both don’t know who wrote the hurtful comment, although it seemed very personal.
I have done my ranting and raving, so for now, I’m letting my anger, hurt and sadness go.

And most fundamentally, I am letting him go.

But more pressing domestic matters ensue. Owing to the fact our apartment is about 40 years old, the pipes, drainage and general 70s puke green design of our bathroom leaves much to be desired.
The drain is blocked.

We've tried plunging. Plunging is fun, except now we're a little over it. We bought concentrated sulphuric acid drain cleaner to pour down the plug, only to strip the enamel off the bath and leave the place smelling like rotten eggs.

Then there's the actual shower itself. Sort of half hanging off the wall, the delightful contracption can only be used when one stands in the bath. It's an accident waiting to happen. Small Bum happened to shower, or try, at our place this morning.

He turned on the taps full blast, turning our usually anti-pressure shower into a raging water beast - the writhing shower head drenched the bathroom from top to bottom, leaving poor Small Bum soaping himself down in the puddle in the bath because it won't drain.

I'm sure you can get a more decent shower at boarding school. In fact, you can.