Don't talk to me about water for at least two days.

You might be wondering what I'm doing at work at 10 p.m. on a Monday night.

It's a super funny story, actually.

See, Matt and I thought we could fix a washing machine by ourselves. What does it matter that we can't get the volume on our remote control to work? A washing machine to repair? In the house we don't even live in? Piece of cake.

It couldn't take more than an hour, right? So we took a lunch break to the condo - the one being rented out by people who own very nice musical equipment - and went to work.

Only? Um. It didn't really go like we imagined.
And basically, all you need to know is that water was flowing out of a hose so fast that it would have flooded the place in about 15 minutes.

So we had to grab buckets and garbage cans to catch it all. I filled buckets, Matt ran them to the bath tub before they overflowed.

As I watched the water run and run I pictured my life going by in slow motion. How I would ruin my condo and not only owe my tenants a place to live, but money for all the damages.

After a very long time of filling buckets and crying on the inside, we finally got the water to turn off. And miraculously, nothing was ruined.

But I obviously didn't get any work done. And I obviously can't get it done now because I'm still so amped up about it. So now that it's written down for the world to see our stupidity, I may be able to finish my article.