The stream of screamed swear words coming from the basement draws me to the top of the stairs.
I pause before rushing down. “Do you need help?” I ask, and when there’s no answer I start down the stairs.
My husband comes into view and tells me: “I got it taken care of. That was a near disaster, though.”
I’m afraid of the answer, but I ask anyway. “What happened?”
“There’s a problem with the sink in the laundry room. The pipe or something. I just caught it before the laundry room flooded out into the other room. We’ll probably have to wait until after vacation to get a plumber here, though. So, you can’t do any laundry until we get back”
I think of the pile of laundry I need to wash before we leave on our epic spring break drive that I can’t believe we committed to but now we’ve made a million plans so there’s no backing out.
No, this isn’t a near disaster. Not a near one at all.