Ellyn’s Pity Party

Featuring one tired mother, her exasperated husband, her peripatetic sister, three dogs, six not particularly helpful children, one leaking refrigerator, a decomposing plywood floor and one bottle of Miller Lite beer. With music supplied by Big Al Carson of the Funky Pirate on Bourbon Street NO, LA. Dessert delights by Krispy Kreme.

Embot is home for the week-end. Nothing big planned - just hanging out. When I returned from work today she reported that there was a big wet spot around the refrigerator. Bridget reported that something was leaking into her basement bedroom. Rick chalked it all up someone being careless while carrying icecube trays. Sure. While clearing the dinner dishes, I tripped on the bubble in the linoleum.

My sister called from New Orleans to give me a vivid description of her dinner. Yum. It’s not her fault she has to be there for a symposium that starts on Monday and the State of Wisconsin booked her on a flight that left at 7:00 am today.

All the whiny females - dogs excluded - convince pater that there is something unnatural going on with the refrigerator. It took a lot of talking, since he countered all of our arguments with the statement that there was no place from which water could flow. Except that the disconnected water supply to the non-working icecube maker had somehow been turned ON - and was leaking water into the walls of the fridge and out any which way possible.

The fridge is now in the middle of the kitchen. With a little encouragement, Rick decided to cut up the linoleum. A good thing. The plywood is soaked and delaminating. Delaminating is a new word I just learned this evening. Now the fridge is in the middle of the kitchen so it doesn’t fall through the floor into Bridget’s bedroom. (Let’s play “The Glad Game”.I may get new, non-textured flooring sooner than I had hoped. Of course, I may also have a refrigerator in the middle of the kitchen for the next 6 months.)

Oh.....Embot just came in with some Krispy Kremes. This may ameliorate the trauma caused by the beer bottle that fell on Rick’s head as he was working with the fridge. (And where did it come from? We haven’t had a drink since New Year’s. Or maybe the Fourth of July.) Now it’s not just water. It’s water, beer and broken glass. And Fran’s brilliant comment, “The refrigerator moved. Why is it there?”

My sister called me from the Funky Pirate. Just to tell me that she had a drink with Big Al Carson. Then she put her cell phone on the table so I could hear the beginning of the band’s next set. And she wished I was there. So do I , Sister. So do I.