When the Pipe Leaks


In these situations, it is advisable not to jump to what appears to be the obvious conclusion.

After all, there could be a more reasonable explanation.

Obviously, as she said at the time, when you call in a plumber to deal with a water leak, he is bound to get wet. So it does seem within the bounds of reason that she does offer to run his clothes through the tumble drier… along with hers.

Because – obviously again – her clothes got wet when the pipe sprung the leak. So, she, much in the manner of the boy and the dyke, had to use whatever was at hand to stem the incipient flood. Otherwise, all our expensive… well, they were expensive (ish) when they were new – a time ago now – furnishings would undoubtedly suffer water damage.

It just so happened that the most suitable things she had to first plug the leak, were her knickers, and she used the bra to bind the knickers she’d  shoved in the hole.

Her dress got soaked in the process, of course.

So it was not unreasonable for me – on returning home – to find my wife and the plumber both naked in the kitchen as their clothes dried in the now fully-functioning washer-drier.

She – as usual – blamed it on my dirty mind. After all, she said, I did watch far too much porn in my youth. ‘No wonder you’re so obsessed with women and plumbers,’ she said.

‘But…’ I pointed out.

‘Oh, that?’ She stood hands on hips as the somewhat red-faced plumber gathered his tools. ‘He’d lost his measuring tape. And he – typical man – knows how long it is to the nearest centimetre. He was using it to measure the length of pipe that needs replacing.’

‘But…’ I added.

‘Well, don’t you get me to hold the end of your tape when you’re measuring?’ She countered.

I had to concede that point too.

‘Not that we seem to do much of it these days,’ she said, gazing down at the still naked plumber as he waited for the washing machine door to click open.

‘If anything you owe him… both of us… an apology.’

‘Sorry…’ I mumbled, wanting to get out of the kitchen. From what I remember of those porn films of my youth, not many of them – if any of them, ended this way. Usually, I seemed to recall, when the husband arrived home, both the lady of the house and he plumber were always keen for him to join in.

Not that I would have minded that much. But the wet floor would have played havoc with my dodgy knee, and I doubt if I’d have measured up to the plumber, not these days. And I know my wife’s habit of pointing out my shortcomings, sometimes in a literal sense, no matter what company we are in.

But then, my first reaction had been outrage at her actions.

Fancy calling a plumber in, with all that expense, for a simple pipe leak?


Published by David Hadley

A Bloke. Occasionally points at ducks.

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