Lucie’s “Quick Fix”!

Okey-Dokey, Artichokey!

Two years ago, the Princess and I decided that my medical issues were mounting and that if she didn’t want to find me belly-up one morning in my Jacuzzi bath tub, that we’d best bite the bullet, dish out the big bucks and install a handicap shower for me.

So, we did just that – install a handy-dandy, handicap shower complete with two shower heads, two handicap bars and a corner shower seat!

And on those special occasions, when I’m on that merry-go-round of fun symptoms that spontaneously shows up (uninvited as they are) and renders me totally weak and incapacitated, Miss Buddha Belly and I are lucky enough to have a corner, shower seat to “set a spell” and imagine myself back to well-ness, again.

So, this morning, I jumped into this special shower to give myself a quickie, as Momma Benedetti likes to say, so I could quickly wash-up and head-out to make my morning appointment.

As luck would have it, though, I go to turn the metal handle of the (shower) diverter switch, and the handle breaks off from the wall, slips out of my hand, and lands squarely on my itsy, bitsy (oh-so–delicate), baby toe.

“Cazzo,” I’m thinking to myself, after I jump around the shower stall, cussing like a drunken sailor.

“Who needs two working feet, when you can hop (just fine) on one foot?” I sarcastically ask myself.

Uh-Hun.

The main shower valve is still working, so I figure I’ll turn off the water with the main valve, feel around the bathroom counter to find my spectacles, and see if I can locate (what I hope) is a simple screw that fell out of the diverter handle onto the shower floor.

At this point, I’m naively thinking it’s a quick fix and I’ll be able to have it working as good as new, again, and quickly get on with my day.

Yep.

That was the plan, anyway.

But when has anything ever gone as planned in my life, People?

Right.

There’s no screw for the handle, and I’m a pretty clever woman, don’t ‘cha know, but I’m no magician, and definitely no plumber.

After closely examining the handle, I come to the inauspicious conclusion that this is not going to be a quick fix.

Swell.

So, unless I want another “Princess and Lucie Super Glue Remedy”, I decide that I better call our 85-year-old, paisano, contractor buddy, Guido, and get him over here to give the situation a quick look-over and have it fixed the right way.

I’m tired of using super glue and duct tape with our various plumbing issues, and want this shower valve fixed correctly.

Uh-Hun.

I get myself to my appointment, swollen baby toe and all, and get Guido (alias “G”) on the phone to come over to the house to take a look at the situation and fix the problem.

“No problema,” G. says, “I’ve been looking for a reason to stop-by for a hug from you for a long time now, any ways.”

“This will give me an excuse to stop over”, he continues.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Yep.

All-righty.

So, G. stops by, gets one of his infamous hugs, barely eye-balls my diverter handle and judiciously comments, “Lucie, there’s no screw to this thing. Where’d you pick-up this piece of crap from? Home Depot or Orchard Supply?”

“Uhhh…..,” I start to stutter.

“I have no idea, G.”, I continue.

“You put it in when you installed the shower, remember?”

“I know there’s no screw,” I smugly inform him.

“I mentioned that to you when I spoke with you yesterday. If there was a screw, I could have fixed it myself.”

“What do you think we should do, G.?” I innocently ask.

At this point, G. is leaning back on my shower seat, methodically rubbing his chin, and giving the situation what I think is his best analytical assessment and attention.

After what seems like forever and a day, he suddenly stops rubbing his chin, very abruptly stands up, and rudely blurts out,

“Ya got any Super Glue?”

“We’ll Super Glue the damn thing,” he garishly declares, “and you’ll be as good as new!”

Uh-Hun.

Yes-siree, Bob.

So glad I got professional advice this time and didn’t fix it myself.

Have a grand day, People, and remember: life may not always be what we planned for, but sometimes, when we least expect it, it’s actually better….I haven’t seen G. in almost two years, and I didn’t realize how much I truly missed him, until the little rompicoglioni (pain in the butt) hugged me.

Catch ya next adventure, People, looking at life from my shoes.