So last night Husband, at 9:30 p.m., said he thought he had the sink fixed. He started working on it at 11 a.m., and with only breaks to run to the hardware store for parts and dinner, he thought he had it licked.
I was most relieved, as he had been angry the entire day with a most foul temper because he could not wrangle the wayward plumbing into doing his bidding.
So last night we stared at the plumbing under the sink a while. No leaks. He shut the hot water off anyway (that was the line that was leaking) and we trundled off to bed.
Snore. Snore.
This morning, still no leaks. He went off to work on the old house he is restoring. I ran the dishwasher and took my time about things, it being Sunday. Not to mention I still have a really bad sore throat and a fever.
Around 11, I stood talking on the phone to a friend. The doors to the sink cabinet were still open, and I glanced down.
A dark spot.
I grabbed up the flashlight and looked.
Drip.
. . .
Drip.
. . .
I put a little shallow pan under it and closed the doors.
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