Water is not my friend

Hey, quick question. Is water supposed to pour OUT of the dishwasher? Yeah, I didn’t think so either, so when it did tonight, I freaked out a little.

I had just loaded the dishwasher completely full with breakfast dishes and the evenings dinner dishes (stuffed shells and Italian sausage – YUM!), turned it on and commenced to wipe down the kitchen counters. I discovered the impending flood when the water seeped into my fuzzy socks.

My Honey came running, drawn by my mournful wails. “Please God, please let it be a simple plumbing problem and

Picasso must have had a premonition of me in the kitchen tonight

 not a broken dishwasher. It’s so young with so much life left to live. Oh the horror!”

The above histrionics are only slightly exaggerated.

I mopped up the water while My Honey went out for his tool belt. I wandered helplessly around the fringes of the kitchen while he disassembled the full racks and the front kick plate. I murmured helpful, sympathetic words in his general direction and stopped frequently to pat the dishwasher like you’d pat a person in the emergency room awaiting blood work.

My Honey made those unhelpful noises repair people and dentists make while they try to determine the trouble. “Yep, there’s a leak.” You’ll be proud of me when I tell you I didn’t hit him.

The mystery was we couldn’t tell where the water was coming from, but as best as we could deduce, it wasn’t coming from the dishwasher. That was both good and bad. If not from the dishwasher then from where?

We laid on our stomachs with our heads together on the kitchen rug and stared at the pool of water on the foor under the dishwasher with flashlights. We didn’t speak, just stared at the water and willed it to tell us where it came from. I’m sure this is exactly how real plumbers to it. Plumbers like my father and brother. When I worked for my father as his indentured servant I don’t recall this actual procedure, but a lot of that time is a blur due to lack of sleep and a near constant hangover (mine not his).

Well, I’m here to admit that My Honey and I are not Water Whisperers. I’m not even a water suggester.

I suggested that perhaps the water had leaked over from under the sink. Perhaps there was a problem with the garbage disposal or the drain. Ahoy! Isn’t that what you say when you’re on a sea of water? Ahoy, there’s the leak!

There was also scary mold all over the back of the cabinet. And bugs. And a scary amount of water we could see dripping down the back of the cabinet between the brick wall and the several thousand dollars worth of three year old kitchen cabinets.   

I have an incredible urge to fling myself on the floor and wail uncontrollably. If you recall, we had a massive plumbing issue just last year involving Army men and a toilet (here, here, here, and here). My Bother the Plumber is booked solid until Monday. My Honey plans to get started on the excavation to make it faster when My Brother gets here.

I was informed that the dinner dishes, the ones that I’d just loaded lovingly, and with a high level of organizational skill, loaded into the dishwasher will now have to be washed in the bathtub. I hope My Honey plans to eat out for the next week.

**whimper**