July 04, 2000

My house screams.

The pipes that were originally installed when the house was built, fifty years ago, have filled with enough corroded gunk that they resonate on the odd occasion that, oh, water passes through them.  This makes the whole house -- walls, floors, anyplace with a pipe running -- scream, and howl, and wail.

It's, um, disconcerting.

I've been told the only way to fix the problem is to re-plumb the entire place, the thought of which makes the little spiral-bound notebook that contains our budget scream, too.

So the house screams.  And will likely stay screaming.

But it is fun to watch a guest come out of the bathroom as the sound of a thousand lost souls erupts from every direction.

"Oh, come on," the guest will say.  "It doesn't smell that bad."

 



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