Water, Water Everywhere and Not a Drop to Flush

Beach Trip 2012

Last week I went to the beach with the same women I go to the beach with every year. Mostly we lounge. If there is an adventure it is seldom of our own making.

I had to change someone's blog name this year. Back row, dead middle. That's Sam and E's Mom. You know her from this blog. She thought she was going through early menopause when E was 11. It turned out to be Sam. But forever and furthermore (or until I decide to change it again), her blog name will be The Terminator. She looks sweet, doesn't she? She is. But she means business.

Here's what happened. It was Friday night, our third night there. We had been to the Pink Pony Pub, where we had eaten dinner and Art Girl (middle row, far left) had done a little Karaoke. (Really. She sounded just like Cher. It was amazing.)

Anyway, we got back to our home away from home and we didn't have any water. I didn't really care much. We had bottled water to drink. I'd already had a shower. And it was after midnight, so I was going to bed soon. I figured we'd have water when we woke up.

Now Art Girl (who is also The Baby of us)  was very concerned and started making calls. I don't know who she called.

Next morning. I got up. We still didn't have water. Art Girl was on the phone. I assume she had not been on the phone all night, but was on the phone again, but I don't know for sure. I still wasn't alarmed. Bottled water. Shower the night before.Blah, blah. Someone had used bottled water to make coffee. I was was not concerned about flushing the commode because I was determined  not to until we had water again. I am willful.

Art Girl was saying, "And hour ago? I understand. We appreciate that you sent someone over so early to fix it. Thank you."

Then, it seems Sam and E's Mom had caught them in a lie. She said, "Give me that phone." Art Girl handed it over.

Then The Terminator was born because the next thing out of that mouth was, "Now, you listen here to me. I am looking out the widow right now and there is no one out there. No truck. No workers. And this morning wasn't good enough anyway. This has been going on since last night and there should have been somebody here last night. There are eleven women in the house and none of us are happy. We are getting more unhappy by the minute. I need to see a truck."

And it was like in a movie. The truck pulled up. "Yeah. Okay. I'm going outside." And she did. Meanwhile a couple of people who were not as willful as I am, had started hauling buckets down to the ocean to bring water up to the one of the five bathrooms.

Heart Breaker, Soul Shaker and I were lounged out on the sofas in our pajamas watching Kirk Herbstreet on College Game Day.

"Do you reckon it's okay to put salt water in a toilet?" I asked.

"Probably not," Heart Breaker, Soul Shaker said. Then we went back to listening to score predictions.

We were not worried. The Terminator wasn't going to let up until water flowed and commodes flushed. And it wasn't long.

I can be a terminator if I have to, but it's nice to sometimes be the one who gets to just ride it out.

In the face of such things, are you a terminator or do you just ride it out?