Crack Attack

It's been haunting me.  My crack.  No, not THAT one--although that reminds me of this Eureka Moment I had the other day after whining about the SEVENTH set of oh-so-attractive boxer shorts I'd had to behold while standing in line for a latte. (like seriously guys, if you're gonna flaunt the skivvies, at least make sure they are CLEAN. *shudder*)  To which, my darling eloquent pal responded, "just imagine what you'd be a-goggling if they weren't wearing boxers." 

"Dear God, I've been so remiss.  Please pour out your blessings on the little man--wherever he may be--that invented boxer shorts. Multiply his fruit....and all that."

Fruit of the loom......um....distracted.  We'll think more on that.....

But back to The Crack.  Here it is....well, was.

See it??  Check out that ceiling.  Mmm-hmmm....they don't come that way in the box.  Yes, that is indeed the corner of my living room.  Beneith it is a flatscreen inside an antique stereo cabinet named Norman. (you don't name your furniture?)  And I have had complete nightmares--in color--of the claw foot tub that resides above that crack and the impending doom that is portended by it's presence. (including the 911 calls elicited by my bedeviled bath involving embarrassing awkward moments with the neighbors and entirely too much flesh)  Ahem.

So.  While some might say it's charmingly ironic (should you do so, I may stab you), my Labor Day weekend has just become laborious.  The crack....attacked.

Now the blissful part of this story is that The Leak that really is the culprit here--has been iced.  However, as you are lifting your brewski tomorrow, lounging at your end-of-the-summer bash involving grilled hunks of meat and salads with questionable ingredients....take a moment.  While He tackles the living room ceiling, I will be grappling the bathroom floor. (no, not ON the bathroom floor--who raised you?!?) 

Happy Labor Day, my friends.