last time

Wait, what do I do  when it floods? 


She says, as I gingerly creep toward her bedroom with the cool mist humidifier filled and ready and tested twice for leakage.

It's not going to flood.

I don't care that it has flooded every other time. I don't care that I can never figure out what I'm doing wrong when I inevitably flood the bed of a sick child whenever she lies awake coughing.

This is helpful.

It's not going to flood.

I filled the fucker up and tested it twice in the kitchen, atop an absorbent pile of towels justincase.

It's not like every other time, when I've filled the thing then carried it into her room only to find that the liquid contents are being dispelled faster than I can reverse directions and chuck the whole cursed contraption into the bathtub.


This time I was being smart, and I tested it. Filled up the tank, inverted it into the basin, waited and watched.

It did not leak.

Good to go. Something maybe nagging at my consciousness... a remnant from the last time we dealt with coughing in the wee hours... some aha moment about the humidifier and the flooding...

I made space on her nightstand, then came back to fetch the humidifier. She said:

"Wait, what do I do when it floods?"

Oh, ye of little faith.

It's not flooding, it's not flooding, it's all good and not flooding, yay!

damndamndamndamnDAMNDAMN DAMNTHIS FUCKING THING GET ME A TOWEL quick.

K, so there's a gallon of water in the bed/carpet of the sick child.

Again.

But for the last time.