Oh, l’eau*

Early Saturday evening. PG has been working all day (yes, the poor man often works Saturdays), whereas I have been lounging around, working on my tan and contemplating whether or not to actually DO anything strenuous. Like water my hanging flower baskets. (I eventually decide to wait until later that night. Then I forget anyway.)

I phone him up when I think he’ll be home to ascertain our plans for the rest of the weekend. My first question is, “So, PG, are you coming here tonight or am I coming to your place?”

His reply is somewhere along the lines of, “Well, Pinklea, you might like to come over here if you haven’t been out of the house all day. DD would probably like to get rid of you for a while, too.”

PG lives on the third floor of his building, and his windows face west. It’s bloody HOT up there. He only has a small table fan, no aircon. And that small table fan is actually mine that I have lent to him for the duration, seeing as how he can’t manage to purchase a fan for himself – not that this is relevant to my story, but still …

Anyway, like most people, I do not sleep well in the heat. At least at my place, I have a lovely ceiling fan in my bedroom, and the window does not face west. I also have a cool basement, with a fairly comfortable pull-out couch. DD often sleeps there when it’s hot, as she does not have a lovely ceiling fan in her bedroom.

So, I am hesitant to come to his place at first. PG and I discuss this for a while. He assures me that he has an extension cord for the table fan. He promises to place the table fan in such a way that it will blow directly on me while I attempt to sleep. He will make me blueberry waffles for breakfast. The idea of leaving the house seems very reasonable at this point, so I decide to go to his place.

“All right,” I say, to conclude the conversation. “I’ll just throw some things in a bag and come over. Oh – maybe I should have a shower first. I’ve been outside most of the day and I guess I’m a little sweaty. Or I could just have one when I get to your place…”

“No no,” PG interrupts me. “Have your shower now, before you get here.”

He pauses.

“I have no water.”

I pause.

“You have no water,” I repeat flatly.

“I have no water,” he confirms. “It’s been off since this morning. The city is doing some repair work on some water main or something, so it’s been turned off in my neighbourhood. They don’t know when they’ll be turning it back on.”

I pause again.

“You have no water. You don’t know when it will be turned back on. You have invited me to spend the rest of the weekend with you at your place, yet you don’t think that the fact that you have no water is important enough to share with me RIGHT AT THE BEGINNING OF OUR CONVERSATION?”

PG giggles. He actually giggles.

I just don’t understand how – IF – he thinks!

But in the end, he comes to my house.

And immediately hops into my shower.

* Just in case you don’t speak French, this means “water”. I just thought it made a nice, rhym-y title. I wasn’t trying to be pretentious or anything, really!


8 responses to “Oh, l’eau*

  1. Men certainly have different priorities eh? You should have seen Hubby’s place before I came into his life and we moved! Grr-osss!

    • Pauline – Yeah, but you would think that even men would use water once in a while, if only to rinse out the beer cans before they toss them in that pile on the balcony that they’ll take to recycling “soon”!

  2. That’s hilarious and so totally guy-like to not mention something huge like not having water. How do they not think those kinds of things are worth mentioning? I’ll never understand.

    Mr.Writeon – that is so awesome that mentioned Betty MacDonald! I love her and usually get blank looks when I talk about her or her books to anyone not in my immediate family (we all love her books). Have you read The Plague & I or Anybody Can Do Anything too?

    • Kimberly – When it works, PG’s mind works in mysterious ways, that’s for sure. Sometimes he’s just comatose in front of his laptop or the TV, though. Then I know his mind is definitely not working!

  3. Have I ever told you, my beautiful and smart sister, how much I love how you tell a story. I think your style is a sheeer delight. You have that skill (unique to women, I attest) of taking the mundane and rendering it priceless. One of my favorite humor writers of all time was the late Betty MacDonald who wrote The Egg and I and Onions in the Stew. Anyway, hon’, I am glad you got your shower. Vital in this weather. Sweat supplants romance any time.

    • mrwriteon – Once again, you make me blush – and you make my day! Thank you for your kind words! (And just so you know, PG’s water came back on at almost noon the next day. Good thing he came to my house, to be able to flush a toilet if nothing else! 🙂 )

  4. Can you see the massive eye roll I’m doing here, at the other end of the country? Men. Pfft.

    • Jazz – I don’t know why we women even bother rolling our eyes any more. We should just accept that a man will inevitably come up with a response that we, in our wildest dreams, could never have imagined, and moreover, he will think that it is perfectly appropriate. We have GOT to get over this expectation we have that they think like we do, because it’s never gonna happen, is it?