Pipe dreams

At 7:00 a.m., my alarm erupted with its usual enthusiasm, which was met by a groan from the other side of the bed.

"I slept so badly," my beloved announced, as if it were the final word on the matter. "I need a hug."

Now, I’m not exactly what you’d call a morning person, so I performed the laziest version of a hug imaginable, which involved rolling approximately three inches closer and draping my arm over her shoulder like an indifferent scarf.

After about a minute, she sat up, shaking her head. "You could really do with some lessons in hugging."

Apparently, I had failed the Hugging 101 exam before I even had a chance to open my eyes properly.

She then casually mentioned that she hadn’t fallen asleep until 4 a.m., which made me wonder who, exactly, had been snoring beside me during the various times I’d rolled over in my half-conscious state. I distinctly remember that satisfying shift in her breathing—the unmistakable sound of someone who had departed the realms of consciousness. But mentioning this, of course, was some kind of insult.

She launched into a detailed monologue about financial calculations, home renovations, and the ever-growing list of things we had nowhere to store. "I’m going to walk the dog," she concluded, her tone dripping with the subtle but unmistakable insinuation that I was clearly not doing enough.

As the front door closed behind her, a certain peaceful liberation swept over me. I sprang out of bed, quickly straightened the duvet—because that’s what heroes do when left unsupervised—and decided to finish painting the bathroom. Productivity, I figured, would balance the universe.

When she returned, I strolled downstairs in my best attempt to appear casual. "How was it?" I asked.

"What?"

"Walking the dog." What else could I possibly have been asking about?

"That was ages ago," she said, as if I’d asked about a walk she’d taken in the Bronze Age.

Not quite the answer I was looking for, but I decided to let it slide. Whist she used the shower and prepared for the day ahead I busied myself with constructing an IKEA product, which, as anyone familiar with Scandinavian flat-pack furniture knows, is an exercise in both patience and psychological endurance.

Suddenly, there was a crash from the kitchen. A sound that could only be described as a cross between an avalanche and an explosion followed. After some searching, I discovered that a bag of coffee grains had spontaneously decided to dislodge itself from the counter, spraying its contents everywhere. This, I deduced, was because my darling had left it in a gravity-defying position, hoping it would sort itself out and empty itself into the jar she must have had it perched upside down on.

As I tidied up the crime scene, I figured I’d reward myself with a cup of coffee. That’s when I discovered that the kitchen sink was blocked. Of course, it was blocked. A quick investigation revealed the culprit: a mountain of pasta, wedged in the pipes like it had been staging some sort of coup.

Now, this wasn’t the first time. You see, my love has an unusual belief that sinks are magical devices capable of handling all manner of food debris—pasta included. She also likes to remove the plug filter, reasoning that the plumbing is somehow designed to digest entire dinners with ease. I’ve spent 25 years trying to explain that sinks are not, in fact, equipped with industrial garbage disposals, but this knowledge remains elusive to her.

When I mentioned the pasta predicament to my sweetheart, she simply asked, "Why is there even a u-bend in plumbing? Why can’t it just be straight and solve all my problems?"

I briefly considered launching into an impromptu TED Talk about the purpose of u-bends and the wonders of modern plumbing, but I suspected it wouldn’t solve anything and besides, I hadn't really got a clue myself.

These, of course, are the minor irritations of life. The little things that, when added up, could drive a person to madness—or at least a second cup of coffee. But in the grand scheme of things, they’re also what makes cohabitation interesting. After all, I’ve decided that instead of gnashing my teeth over plumbing mishaps, I’ll try to be positive, pragmatic, and patient. Perhaps one day, we’ll be on the same team, solving these problems together—right after I unblock the sink. Again.