I originally posted this story in May 2009, but as I found myself telling this story again recently, I thought that maybe I would repost it just for fun.
We all have moments like these. I've worn inside out shirts to church. Sleep deprived, I wore a crepe-y thin skirt to work (with a slip) only to find that through the miracle of static cling - the slip had migrated so far north as to become completely useless.
These however pale in comparison to what I'm about to share.
The year after we purchased our house, we came to the extremely unpleasant realization that our roof had reached the age of retirement. Small leaks had alerted us that the roof needed a check up, but one night, around 2 a.m., my husband and I awoke to a very unwanted shower. There was a torrential downpour going out outside, we're talking ark weather people. Water was leaking through our bedroom ceiling, hitting the blades of the ceiling fan and flinging cold rainwater directly onto our heads. It was lovely - really. Suddenly awake, hubby and I rushed upstairs to the attic, fully expecting to see nothing but sky judging from the river rushing into our bed. Luckily, we were quickly able to isolate the leak, which wasn't very big, but still letting in a lot of water. I'm sorry to say that neither my husband or myself are very personable people in the wee hours of the morning. Our conversation mainly consisted of snarling and whining and failed attempts at rigging something to stop the water from reaching the wiring running across the attic ceiling. For probably the twentieth time, my husband said, "This isn't working. Don't we have anything else?" In desperation, I ran downstairs to search the kitchen and bathroom and stumbled across an idea, a rather inspired idea, I thought. Rushing back to the attic, where the poor man was standing holding a soaking wet towel against the ceiling, I proudly held out my hands and displayed my emergency roof repair solution. Recoiling, he exclaimed that there must be some other way. Any other way. Being the perfectly submissive wife that I am, I told him if he had any better ideas - use them. Surprisingly, my epiphany worked. The ceiling was temporarily patched and we quickly went back to sleep. I called the roofer the next morning and scheduled an estimate later that week. Fortunately, it did not rain during that time and we temporarily forgot about our ordeal. Until, that is, the roofer and my hubby went up to the attic to check out the ceiling and found three maxi pads duct taped over the leak. The two men descended the stairs red faced and returned to the attic with some, um, more appropriate leak-patching materials.
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