My hatchet is rusty.

So last night, I was cleaning up the apartment a little bit in anticipation of MyFella and Jamie coming this weekend. (MyFella is known to say "You used to clean up before I came. I guess the honeymoon is over." Now, don't get me to talking about his house.) So, I was going to go down to Noodle & Kitten's for a bit of grilled supper, but trying to put away a few things before I went, so I wouldn't be up so late.

And that's when it happened. My toes squished on the little throw down rug in the hallway, under that little silver rolling shelf. The area is set up for a washing machine, but I don't own one. So I've just got a little utility shelf there. The one I worked so hard on about a month back to clean up and throw away old stuff. Anyway, my toes aren't supposed to squish on the rug. So I knew something was wrong. Sigh.

I get to trying to figure it out. I pull the shelf out, I pat the walls and open the cabinets. There's no leak, none anywhere. And more odd, some of the stuff on the shelf is soaking wet, other stuff, mainly the top shelf, bone dry. It's just not making sense to me. I start taking things off the rolling shelf and my tool box, closed and latched, is FULL of water. Dingy brown water. And I still can't find any container of mine that has opened and leaked, and I can't find any leak in the wall or ceiling.

I've called the property management co. and gotten the answering service, and a minute later they call back with Chris. I happen to know Chris because he is that crazy D.J. that my old landlord let throw a lawn party the last year I was there. That landlord used him for maintenance work around there and he was a total cutie. Much more cute without his beard, but still cute. (He also has a great story about living in a haunted house on Central and having a roommate RUN out of the house, fall down on the lawn and NEVER go back in the house again. Chris had to move the guys stuff out for him.) So anyway, Chris calls back and about that moment, water comes POURING out of one of the washing machines pipes in the wall. Soapy, warm water. Lots of it. Lots and lots.

Chris says he is sending someone over, which annoys me to no end because. . . . well because I always thought he was hot and I want to look at him. I figure I'm missing dinner, I've got a washing machine's worth of water in my floor, ruined stuff, a dozen towels in the floor, and the least I could do is get a look at Chris.

(and in the mean time I've run upstairs and gotten them to turn their washer off. They seem like real nice folks).

So about a half hour later, there's this TOTAL HOTTIE coming out of the work van. Tall glass of water. Nice cheek bones, brown hair, Carrhart work pants (I go weak in the knees for Carrhart pants). Really, makes Chris look kind of like the plain brother in comparison.

Aside from looking good, which was rolling off him in waves, he really didn't do anything at all. He said they would come back today to auger out the pipes, the drain pipe must have gotten stopped up somewhere lower than where their pipe connects to mine (though MyFella said there SHOULD have been a cap to prevent backflow to me). He went upstairs to do what I already did, which was ask them not to run the washing machine. (I wanted to be annoyed at his lack of doing anything coupled with him actually doing what I've already done – but since that square jaw and brown hair was talking to me, I forgave him.)

So then I had some serious o.c.d. and cleanliness issues rolling through my head. My floor in that hallway was covered with someone else's dirty wash water. My possessions in the hallway were soaked. Including all my tools. So there was some serious time spent with Windex and the Wet Jet Swiffer last night wiping off the stuff that was salvageable. Throwing other stuff away. I tossed those towels onto the bushes outside, nothing else I could think of to do with them.

Then looking at all my tools floating in a bath of someone else's dirty water just about sent me over the edge. Plus I know water leads to rust. I was just unhappy. Dirty water rust on my tools (what's left since I think Joe from the old apartment "acquired" a bunch of them, but that's years ago now). So I get a bucket of hot soapy water, dip them all in it, dip them in rinse water, lay them out to dry on a towel on the coffee table, then sit down and spend an hour spraying them down with WD-40 and rubbing them good. I couldn't think of anything else to put on them because the only oil I have is cooking oil. So I'm putting WD-40 down on my pipe wrench, my hatchet, my hammers, my screw drivers, etc. The blade on the hatchet already discolored, so I was none too happy about it. The pipe wrench, turns out, was stiff enough that I think it was already trying to rust up before the water bath. So it got lots of WD-40 and I opened it up completely.

The tool boxes got a good washing and drying, and eventually laid all the freshly oiled tools back in them. This time with room to spare because some old junk that was in them I just threw away.

And after all of this, late at night, MyFella calls and I tell him what's going on. This morning I mention that I want to rub down the hatchet again but want to be careful with Jamie at the house this weekend, so I had closed up the tool boxes and put them under the coffee table. After all of this, you know what his main comment is?

"Why do you own a hatchet?"