Molly stepped into the warmth of her bathtub and prepared for a long evening of allowing her stress to soak away. Her hope was to lean back, let the scented candles do their thing, and eventually throw her day out with the bath water.

With her roommate out of town for the week, she knew she had the place to herself. Outside the bathroom, there were no sounds. This was a huge plus because she longed for silence more than anything. After a day filled with the sounds of doctors barking orders, patients screaming for this or that, and, of course, the sirens arriving in the ambulance bay, she was ready for a sensory deprivation chamber.

But silence was not on order. After settling into the warm bubble bath, she noticed the steady drip coming from the spigot. Normally, this kind of thing wouldn’t bother her. But the headache she currently had caused the noise to become extreme torture. Each time a droplet hit the surface of the water, she heard the sound of a sledgehammer being thrown against an enormous piece of sheet metal.

Molly leaned forward and attempted to close the faucet tighter. Unfortunately, her strength didn’t seem to be enough to get the job done. She almost resigned herself to just deal with the lack of serenity, but then she remembered the wrench in the toolbox she had hidden in the laundry room.

She didn’t often use tools. But her daddy had taught her enough to know that it was important to have them in case you needed them. If she couldn’t twist the knobs with her bare hands, maybe some leverage would help.

She let out a sigh and pulled herself out of the water, praying it would stay warm while she retrieved the wrench. She threw on her bathrobe and walked through the house to the laundry room. Under a pile of clothes against the wall she found the toolbox. She found a couple different screwdrivers, a hammer, a tape measure, various other tools, but no wrench. Where could it be?

It had to be there somewhere. She knew she had a wrench. She specifically remembered buying one the same day she got the screwdrivers and the hammer. So why were all the other tools lying here unused while the one she actually needed was missing? “Crap,” she muttered under her breath.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal. It was just a leaky faucet. But she was exhausted. She had a headache that wouldn’t go away. And she just wanted to relax. The constant dripping proved to be counterproductive.

Then Molly thought about the guy next door. What if he has some tools? she thought. But she didn’t have his number. And she didn’t really feel comfortable walking over there in just her robe. She didn’t want this guy to get the wrong idea. After all, she’d only spoken to him once or twice. She wasn’t even sure of his name. Calen? Calvin? She couldn’t remember.

She decided against asking him. It would be embarrassing enough to talk to him in a bathrobe. To not remember his name would make the situation worse. Besides, by the time she got over there, explained her dilemma, borrowed a wrench and got back to her bath, the water would surely be cold. Again, completely counterproductive.

So she took a couple Tylenol and made her way back to the bathroom. She was a grown-up and she would just have to deal with the inconvenience of a constant drip. For the second time this evening, she disrobed. She dipped her foot in the water and quickly drew back with a shudder. Cold. No, frigid was a better word.

Eureka, she thought.

Feature Photo by Emily Powers on Unsplash


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