Pasta

My husband gets frustrated with me because I declare everything his mom's fault.  Like when I tried to iron my shirt on her [awful] hallway half ironing board where the only available plug in is in the bathroom, forcing you to place the iron on the END of the board (you know, where the clothes go) and I ended up burning myself - and said it was her fault.  

OK, she wasn't even there, and hadn't been there, and other than buying the tiny house and choosing the hallway as the place for the ironing board, she really had nothing to do with it.  But, that didn't stop me from cursing her name when it happened.

Well last night, something else happened, and I am determined to find a way to make it her fault.  Hubby declared he wanted something sweet, and since there was nothing left in the house (see previous post - that is her fault), he handed me a bag of brownie mix that I bought to make some Christmas gifts.  I imagined how good they would taste with pecans, caramel bits and chocolate chunks mixed in and I caved.

I wash my hands at the sink, and as I spin around to head back to the bowl, I hear a noise.  A familiar noise.  Water.  Running.  I turn back around, yes, I had definitely turned it off.  Where was it coming from?  My eyes dart down to the cabinet.  Panic stricken, I yank open the door, to be greeted with the sight of a steady stream of water.  "The sink is leaking!"  I yell, totally missing the full magnitude of what I am staring at.  

"Leak" typically means more along the "drip" category.  This was a full on gushing.  Imagine if you turned on your water, but nothing was attached under your sink.  There you go, that's what I was looking at.

He rushes in.  I turn on the water for a second.  "Look."  The water does as instructed and pours all over the collection of chemicals that his mom keeps under the sink.

"That's not a leak.  That's something else."  He runs to get a box to put everything in.  I get down for a closer inspection.  Um, is that mold?  Not the scary black mold, but the green stuff.  The gross stuff.  Ewe.  What is all over the back wall of the cabinet?  Is that?  That couldn't be.  Is that, food?

We start unloading everything.  The bottom of the cabinet is a full two inches lower in the back than in the front.  The particle board bottom is soggy and just plain disgusting.  Luckily, (I guess) his mom had a 2-quart pitcher under there, and it caught a lot of the water.  Obviously not enough, but some.  Hubby pours it out in the other side of the sink (which we had declared safe).  "What the hell?" he says.

"Huh?  What?"  I stand up from where I was lining the third full box of cascade.

"There are noodles in here.  Entire noodles.  When is the last time we had a penne pasta?

Ewe.  That's just plain gross.  After removing all the cleaning supplies and other junk that is kept under the sink, with the help of a flash light and my compact, I was able to locate the problem.  A hole about the size of a quarter in the back side of the garbage disposal wall.  And yes, it was easy to spot.  It was the thing with noodles hanging out of it.

Maybe I do cook too much pasta.