Dear John

We’ve been together for five years this month.

Did you remember, or have you forgotten?

I would imagine you’ve forgotten.  You’re selfish that way.

You see John, I’ve come to the understanding that you need me around here just about as much as I need you.  I would expect that experts would characterize our relationship as a codependent one.

Frankly John, I want out of our relationship.  I’m tired of the vicious cycle of conflict you present to me at the most inopportune of times.  I know you’ve directed none of your physical tantrums at me, however those you’ve perpetrated on the house are getting out of hand.

When you started the intermittent running a month or so ago, it was almost tolerable.  I would just take your lid off, tap on your floaty-thingy a few times and the running would stop.

You and I both knew the symptoms would get worse, didn’t we?

I’m no idiot, John.  Tapping the floaty-thingy only works a few times.  After that, the running comes back and then doesn’t stop until you take drastic actions like putting out money to fix the problem.

Fine.  Last week, I did exactly that.

But that wasn’t enough was it?  It was only fitting that once the whole fill tube gizzie was in there correctly, another problem would be found, right?

Thanks to you John, I now understand the concept of a compression fitting as it applies to a water supply.  I’ve been out on my own for 20 years now, and I never really needed to know any of that until now.

Why is that John?

Do you know how long I tried to unscrew that thing from the wall before I got the epiphany to go check it out on YouTube?  I don’t care how much of my crap you’ve taken over the last five years.  The way you sat their stewing in your porcelain mockery of me while I laid there on the floor with a pair of channel-locks in one hand and an adjustable wrench in the other while I put up the valiant effort to get the old defective valve off just drives it home for me that you are one inconsiderate bastard.

There, I said it.

But you weren’t done, were you?

Of course not.

Once I had changed your innards out and made sure your copper lifeline was in place (it’s still dripping by the way, you bastard), you had let loose with the really good stuff didn’t you?

Leaking water from under the base was the coup de grace in bringing on the end to what could have been a beautiful relationship for years to come.

I had so much to give you.

Fine.  A simple wax ring replacement could fix the problems you and I are going through.

Did you notice I said “….could fix….”?

I admit it.  I was tired.  I didn’t want to do the repair myself so I hired someone to come in and do it for me.  I now understand how much that hurt your feelings.  Did you have to reveal the shortcuts taken during the construction of our house twenty years ago, John?

I mean, really.  The flange was just set in there and not really connected to anything.  It’s bad enough that some idiot would just set it in there, but how could you air our dirty laundry to the plumber like that, John?  Do you know how much they want to bust up the concrete around there and make sure everything is done right in there?  I’ll give you a hint John.  I bought the Jeep for just a little less than that a few months ago!

Did I mention that you’re an inconsiderate bastard?

Of course I did.  Wipe that shit-eatin’ grin off of your face and listen closely.

I want out.

I’m not going to use you anymore.

It takes two, John.  You have the blue, but I won’t give you anything to make it green.

Take all of the time I’ve sat there reading or playing poker on my phone while my hamstrings have gone to sleep, and say goodbye.  The next time I feel sick and need to purge, rest assured I won’t seek out your comfort.  I can’t trust you to be there in good working order anymore.

You have new innards, a new wax ring, and a lemon fresh Mr. Clean finish.  You’re lifeline has been shut off and detached.

Just know that you started this John, not me.

Randy Tharp

TharpSter is a husband to one woman, a father to two kids, a master to two dogs, an occasional cubical occupant, and unable to make up his mind on an adequate theme for this website.

One thought on “Dear John

  1. Poor John! He may be so upset over your tirade that he decides to spew out gallons of water to flood the house, like his uncle did! Be afraid, be very afraid!

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