With a baby on the way, Kitty and I have made a pledge not to make any plans. Really, what's the point when anything could happen at any moment. Our rational is this: Hang out together, get lots of rest, watch a bit of tv, play some WiiSports and try not to get in too much trouble. After all, the next 20 years will be a sleepless, insane mess, right? (or not, perhaps)
The Water Breaks
As it turns out, water broke last Saturday night. I walked in as Kitty was reading in bed. "Does the ceiling look a little odd to you?" she asked.
I had been upstairs talking with Ms. C, our landlord, chatting about the fun of planning and how Kitty and I were making the most (or perhaps the least) out of these last few days.
Now I looked at the ceiling- puzzled and a little bemused. I pulled a chair up and poked the ceiling. It caved damply under the pressure of my finger. "Crap." I said, as I stood on the chair.
Back up the outside stairs to Ms. C's house I raced. She was surprised at a second visit so quickly and it was getting late. As her eyes got large, she said, "Let me call my brother."
Let's all keep in mind that here in NYC, water is a both a trusted companion and a feared enemy. If a pipe bursts, it can cause millions of dollars of damage to not only your apartment, but every apartment below. An overflowed tub can cause rifts for generations. Children stop playing with "negligent" neighbors. Lawsuits are filed. Decorators cheer. Years later, teenagers will fall tragically in love across these battle lines and only their mutual suicides will bring the families back together.
Luckily, Ms. C's brother figured out that it was only a leaky radiator valve. The water dried, he replaced the ceiling drywall the next day and this evening I'm putting on the last coat of paint.
Crisis averted and the Spud is 85% less likely to avoid an untimely Romeo/Juliet demise.
It always could be worse.
On Monday I was sitting at my desk at the office. My cell rings and I see it is The Cantor, my best friend from college. I can't imagine why an esteemed member of the Hebrew Nation would be calling me mid-day so I took the call. The Cantor lives with his family on the Upper East Side near the Temple where he serves. He has a doorman and some might say he has a "dee-lux apartment in the sky."
"Hey, man, I'm sitting in a coffee shop right now and I thought I'd give you a call."
"We'll what's new?" I asked.
"Well, I'm waiting for a tow truck to pick up my car. Somebody set it on fire last night."
"HEY-SUS!" I exclaimed. (He doesn't mind so much, being Jewish and all) "Is everything OK? Did anyone get hurt?"
"No. It happened in the middle of the night. I came out to switch sides for street parking and there was the burned out shell of my car. I guess it went up at about 2 a.m. and the firetrucks were here and everything."
He certainly sounded calmer than I would have been. I decided not to worry him with my little tale of woe.
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