Lost in Suburbia: I’ve got that old team spigot

Tracy Beckerman

I’m at war with my spigot.

The trouble started when the on/off knob rusted and broke off. Since replacing the whole spigot would be a huge plumbing nightmare, we decided instead to attach a new spigot to the broken spigot.

Then the on/off switch to THAT one broke off.

Now I had two broken spigots and no way to water my plants.

“Honey, I need you to fix my spigot!” I wailed to my husband over the phone.

He snorted. “Is that a secret code for something?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “It is a secret code for the broken doo-hickey that is attached to the house where the water comes out.”

“I know what a spigot is,” he said. “I was just kidding.”

I, however, was in no mood to kid around. The home improvement genius who installed the spigot put it in a ridiculous place in a nook on the house behind a wall of spruce trees. In order to get to it, I had to duck and crawl under and behind the bushes. So every time I went to water the plants, I would get sharp spruce needles in my hair and down my shirt, and mulch embedded in my knees. 

Not the most fun a girl could have.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t magically fix the spigot from the other side of the phone,” he assured me.

“Fine,” I grunted. “I’ll do it myself.”

“That’s the spigot!” he exclaimed.

Using a wrench, I twisted the switch on the secondary spigot as hard as I could and was able to open the valve. But as I gave it one more twist, suddenly, a whole chunk of spigot broke off. Cold water came shooting out at just the right angle to hit me square in the face.

I cursed. I screamed. Then I decided since I was already a mess, I might as well finish the job I set out to do. 

Crawling out from under the spruce trees, I went to grab the hose and saw that some idiot had left the spray nozzle on the hose in the “on” position. The hose was whipping around like a live wire from the force of the water, spraying me, the dog, and the house, but regrettably, not the plants and flowers.

I chased it around the yard and then, finally, threw myself on the hose and wrestled it to the ground … right into a puddle of mud.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I stood up, turned the hose on myself, and blasted the mud to oblivion. Then I turned off the hose.

When I looked up from my ordeal, I was stunned to see my mailman standing at the foot of my driveway.

I’m not sure how long he had been there, but from the shocked look on his face, he had probably witnessed the whole marine crawl out of the bushes, hose chase, hose throw down, and mud removal shower.

I waved and gave him a withering smile. “I’m at war with my spigot,” I yelled.

He raised an eyebrow.

“I think you lost.”

Become a fan of Lost in Suburbia on Facebook. Go to http://www.facebook.com/LostinSuburbiaFanPage.