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.”
“I have no water.”
“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?”
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!