The Kid Goes To The Hospital

You didn't think this ordeal could possibly be over, did you?

I just got home from work. Johnny's here, because the new job doesn't kick in until next week. I'd left him at 8:30 with the first-half, up-front payment for the Kid, credit card instructions for Home Depot.

When I pulled up in front and saw no plumber-car here, I thought perhaps the two of them were shopping. But when Johnny met me at the door, my heart just sank.

"No plumber?" I asked him trepidatiously.

"He went to the emergency room."

I. Uh. You're kidding. I just. I feel like I've been botoxed: I can't move my face.

Okay, Erin, let's try to work up a modicum of concern for the Kid:

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah. His back. Did something. He called. At least he had the courtesy to call."

"He called from the emergency room?"

"Yes. No. I don't know where he was. He sounded rough, though, like he was really hurting."

"Well, I guess we have to start again, then. Look for plumber #12."

"Why?"

"Well, honey, if it's his back..."

"He said he really wants to do the job..."

I'm sure he does. And I really want to sneeze without crying. But sometimes a wonky back just gets the final word.

We'll see. We'll give him the weekend to let us know what's going on, and if we don't hear by Monday we'll go back to the board.

In the meantime, don't I owe somebody a verse or two...?