My Plumber is Trying to Kill Me

Last week, back at the mother ship, I wrote about my plumbing troubles. That is not a euphemism for my lady parts, by the way. There was a leak. In our shower head. And it was DRIP, DRIP, DRIPPING for the better part of a week, and despite the madness rising like a hideous gas inside my skull, I found it damn near impossible to just pick up the phone and

call.

a.

plumber.  

And now I know why. 

Because the plumber is trying to kill me. 

He is a very nice plumber. But for reasons we may never know, he wants me to die and be dead. 

He did fix the shower head. But in doing so (and THIS (this!) is what keeps me from calling the plumber) he knocked another piece loose and broke the knob that turns the hot water on and off. So instead of turning on (full stop!), and off (full stop.),  the water handle just sort of spun around and around until I could find juuuuuuuuust the right spot and then the water would shut off but the handle would not lock into place, and yowza(!), you can just imagine how hot that hot water is when one is accustomed to turning both knobs off at once and only the cold one comes to a stop.

The opposite of refreshing is how I would describe it. 

Now the nice plumber offered to come back right away and fix this handle, at no cost to us however ... 

(and this is how I know he wants me to die)

He installed the new hot water handle backwards. 

You guys.

You know what this means.

Lefty is no longer loosie. And righty is no longer tighty. Righty is loosie. WHICH DOES NOT RHYME AT ALL and basically my entire world, which apparently HINGES on this one rule, has been turned upside down, and I can't turn my shower off without performing a series of mental gymnastics that would drive Nadia Comeneci to eat her weight in curly fries. 

I suppose I could call this plumber and ask him to make it right(y tighty), but GOD KNOWS WHAT OTHER TRICKS HE HAS UP HIS SLEEVE. For all I know, he'll send the whole time space continuum down the drain.