One person’s dire is another’s it’s not that big a deal. Dictionary.com defines dire as:
1. causing or involving great fear or suffering; dreadful; terrible: a dire calamity.2. indicating trouble, disaster, misfortune, or the like:
dire predictions about the stock market.3. urgent; desperate: in dire need of food.
I think that a key to life is to determine when I’ve reached a situation that is dire. This is especially true as I’ve gotten older. Those tasks I was once able to achieve such as scrambling up a step ladder to reach the top shelf in my kitchen – now that I can’t do it – dire or not that big a deal? Should I focus my exercise program in the direction of upward mobility on said ladder or let it go as one of the casualties of aging?
My house is replete with decisions deferred that devolved into dire. Thoughts of “it can wait, it’s not that big a deal” have piled on to create situations that would have been less trying had I nipped them in the bud, as the saying goes. Or, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. So many situations, so many opportunities to defer or hasten.
Which is why I’m deciding whether or not the clogged drain in my kitchen is cause for alarm, i.e., requiring the services of a plumber, or not that big a deal, i.e., dump another bottle of Drano down the sink.
I despise the thought of calling a plumber and sitting around all day waiting for him/her to arrive with the accoutrements of drain cleaning. Come to think of it, I’ve never personally been in the company of a female plumber. I hope they exist. What usually does the trick is the crazy snake that they stick down the drain which uncurls itself throughout the vast expanse of dark pipe clearing out bits of flotsam that should not have been down there in the first place. Egg shells, kale and oatmeal converge to gum up the works of my life. Is this foolish human pride that keeps me from plunging ahead and making the call? Am I afraid at what the plumber might think of me?
On the other hand, perhaps I’m thinking that a female plumber might be less judgmental. She will understand why I resorted to dumping prohibited items down the disposal rather than toss them in the compost heap. Won’t she?
She would also be more respectful of my time, won’t she? She won’t keep me waiting for hours and then show up just as dinner is being served. On the other hand, maybe she’ll be less understanding, since she knows how important it is to manage one’s kitchen waste while also managing a household. After all, isn’t this why she became a plumber? To share her wisdom with the world?
While my husband continues to rail against deferred decisions and this problem will only get worse if we don’t’ deal with it now, I’m heading out for another bottle of Drano. I am in no mood to be judged by the plumber.