runneth over

February 24, 2020

We had a flood yesterday. The loo overflowed, and unbeknownst to any of us, filled the bathroom with enough water to paddle in. Thank goodness for Iole’s old camp towels, our trusty mop, and a jumbo supply of paper towel. A sense of humour helps in these situations. Mid-mop, I told my kids about how I used to flood our house regularly in my teen years. “I’d run a bath, get on my Garfield phone, forget about the running water, and twenty minutes later, hear yells from below.” My mum’s wardrobe was directly below the tub, but it was always Costas’ clothes that got drenched. Costas and my Mum met in the mid-80s a few years after we moved to London and he lived with us for about a decade. He is kind and steady and has impeccable taste. His wardrobe was filled with beautiful Zegna shirts and butter-soft Italian leather shoes. Never did Costas get upset with me during a flood. And never did he challenge me on stealing his hairbrush, or his stapler or his fancy felt tip pens. Not once. I pretty much ignored him through my teen years, and he was never anything but kind and patient with me. A year or two after he and my Mum separated I gave him a brand new Kent hairbrush, stapler, tape and pens all wrapped up in a Tiffany box. He didn’t say much, but about 15-years later, when I gave birth to Iole, he returned the tattered Tiffany box, this time with a silver baby hair brush and rattle inside. Full circles. Costas was just what we needed at that time. I’m quite sure we were just what he needed, too. It’s funny the stories that surface in a flood.


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