My friend Ann reminded me that I never did finish telling the Angelina Versus the Broken Faucet story. I suppose I was so deeply relieved to have it behind me that I didn’t consider that other people might be wondering how the story ended.

I really wanted to do this whole replacement by myself but it turned out to be a two person job. Philip and I ended up taking turns beating the crap out of the old broken faucet fittings. At one point our entire kitchen floor was covered in every tool we own. We got dirty, bruised, frustrated, and just when we were ready to learn bomb-making skills to blow that bastard out of our kitchen, we got the fucker completely off.

After that it was easy replacing the sink. As long as I don’t count the debacle of the silicone tube that wouldn’t pump and how it made me wish I was religious so I could renounce god in an epic gesture of hopeless rage. Whatever. At last we had our new faucet. I love it. It isn’t overly fancy (that would have looked weird with our decrepit sink and peeling Formica counter) but it works well, looks fresh, and isn’t broken.

When it was all over we concluded that diy plumbing is not something we’ll willingly take on in the future. Provided we can afford it, I’m happy to pay plumbers to do what they do so I don’t have to.

The End.