Reverend Ref +

"IF THE WOMEN DON'T FIND YOU HANDY, AT LEAST LET THEM FIND YOU HANDSOME."

For those who find the above quote slightly familiar, but just a little twisted -- I borrowed and spun the famous Red Green line. Trust me, there's no narcissism here, as I'm not handy and only mildly handsome.

However, I did manage to repair the downstairs toilet. In short, a flush would result in a high pressure spray of water emanating from the tank blasting against the washing machine, into the cat box, and a screaming kid -- "DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

I attempted some home remedies that included turning the water on the supply line down, so as not to generate an excess amount of water. I took the advice of one of my parishioners and put a plastic 2-liter coke bottle over the fill valve to keep the water in the tank. I even tried taping the fill hose to the back of the tank (shipping tape isn't even close to duct tape, fyi). Finally, I shut the *&%# thing off and drained it, labeling the whole contraption off limits until further notice. That was October.

Somewhere between then and now, I purchased a new thingy in hopes that that would work. Here's a little plumbing hint -- if it's a new thingy that looks like your old thingy, it won't work. It just looks better as it's spewing water all over your floor.

On Friday, Mrs. Ref made a trip to Bozeman. She bought all kinds of stuff. Including an entirely new replacement kit for the tank. A new thingy, a new float, a new fill line, a new seal, new washers, screws and bolts -- the whole shabang. Guess what I did Saturday.

And Saturday evening.

And Sunday evening.

Okay, so it took me something like 14 total hours to replace the guts to the downstairs toilet. But it doesn't leak. And we don't have water spraying out onto the floor and into the cat box. And we don't have a screaming kid. Not a bad weekend, I'd say.

So remember, keep your stick on the ice.