Came home from vacation to find the master bath room shower leaking at the wall. Troubleshot it last night. Figured out the shower arm was busted at the brass fitting. Was going to fix it this weekend. After all, how much water was leaking.
Way more than I thought.
Paint bubbles started appearing this afternoon in the living room ceiling. Deja vu – this has happened before with the condensation on a hot summer day coupled with more than at least several loads of cold water wash/rinse. (Who had the bright idea to place the master bathroom and laundry room above the living room anyways?)
So I got home, removed the faulty six inch shower arm and headed off to the land of orange aprons. The selection of shower heads was monumental in scope, size and diversity. At least six dozen variants. Keep it simple, all I need is to get wet, get soapy, get rinsed, get out. Tropical breezes are way too optional.
So I get home, again. #1 son capably and very competently assists under my pretend tutelage. No more leaks.
Have dinner with appropriate attitude adjustment beverages.
The paint bubbles of water remain dangling, tantalizing. It is now their time. I pop several of them with scissors and capture the minimal water. One has a persistent drip, drop and dribble. Get the battery operated drill with a 5/8″ spade bit. Drill a hole to relieve the unknown pressure.
It was like turning on a faucet in the ceiling. A steady stream of water poured out into our panic. #1 son gets a plastic mixing bowl. I then run and grab an empty plastic coffee bucket, with a handle. We alternate standing under the torrent with the water tossed out into the rain on the deck. Finally, it slows enough so we can catch our breath and get our cameras to further capture the photographic evidence.
Son and I are laughing, chuckling, guffawing and audibly disturbing the global IT conference call going on in dear wife’s/mother’s work-from-home office. Soorrrryyyyy.
Do I dare drill another hole for further pressure release?