An extremely true story, unfortunately. So, Friday night, I’m just minding my
business, vibing, probably thinking about 45s or soul records, starting to wash
dishes when suddenly it feels like the kitchen sink is acting like it’s on strike.
Water pressure? Barely a suggestion.
My brain immediately sprints to the worst‑case scenario like its training for
the Plumbing Olympics.
Then Saturday morning, the shower joins the rebellion. The water pressure is low, and my mind goes, “Ah yes… the darkness. My old friend. Could it be the Leaky Boat Era returns.”
But no. No, dude. The universe had something far sillier planned. I stroll into the backyard, ready to grab
something from the shed, and instead I discover: THE GREAT
INLAND SEA OF NORTH CAROLINA. My backyard has become a fully
operational lake. Ducks could move in. Fishermen could apply for permits.
Zillow might list it as “waterfront property.”
And I’m standing there like: “Okay… it rained last night… but it didn’t Noah’s Ark rain.”
Then I see it. The hose. On. Still. Since Thursday. My wife watered her
plants, didn’t turn off the hose and accidentally created a new ecosystem. A
biome. A freshwater habitat. A national park. A place where Cooper can finally
pursue his dream of becoming a swamp explorer.
Being the supportive husband that I am, I decide to lighten the mood by naming the lake after her — a bold choice, a brave choice, a choice that was met with the exact level of enthusiasm one would expect: none.
And now I await next month’s water bill like it’s a horror movie villain slowly approaching from behind. But hey — at least it wasn’t a real leak. At least, I’m not spending six months in a leaky boat when I want to go to the shed. At least the only thing sinking is my bank account.
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