One September afternoon, a ranch hand, who is a pretty good plumber, put a new toilet in my room at the ranch. He did a great job, and that commode worked like it knew what it was doing, until about, oh, Thanksgiving morning.

Gar was in Atlanta driving a switch truck for Samaritan’s Purse, so I decided to spend Thanksgiving with my 94-year-old client. She was going to be alone, and I was going to be alone, so I thought I’d keep her company. One of her older friends, Bill, decided he’d join us. He picked up the whole dinner at the local grocer and we’d split the cost three ways. What could go wrong with a plan like that

The day before Thanksgiving, I made pies and salads. The meal was to come with a fully-roasted turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, gravy and a relish tray. Since “open and serve” is my favorite recipe, I was in hog heaven.

I woke that morning, took a shower and when I stepped out, my feet hit an inch of water. I may have cussed more than would be appropriate, thinking I’d left the shower curtain open and allowed a flood. I sopped up what I could with the towels I had, then surveyed the situation.

Water was still coming. It was seeping from the tile and beginning to creep into the carpeted adjoining room. That wasn’t good.

I’d not been in this lodge very long, so didn’t know where anything was, and I was the only one in the building. It was a holiday, and everyone had been oh-so-bright and left for warmer country.

Not me. And what does that tell you?

As the deluge ran between my toes, I reached around the back of the toilet and managed to turn the water off. I was naked, my room was downstairs and, without a mop, I considered throwing caution to the wind and racing for towels in my birthday suit.

That thought came and immediately went. I wasn’t having a real good day and, if someone saw me, it wouldn’t be a real good day for them either.

I threw on jeans and a sweatshirt and dashed upstairs, opening every cupboard and closet I came to. Not a towel in the vicinity. How could this be? I found a bathroom, and it contained one hand towel and one wash cloth. Well, gee, I’m in the money now. 

I texted Julie, who worked there, and she told me to go to the laundry room, which was in another building. My, how convenient.

With snow on the ground, I had to go back to my room to get boots to make my way to a place I’d never been. Like passing a math test.

The laundry cabin was warm and smelled good, but was slightly dark. I searched for a light switch and just as I flipped it on, my other hand slid along a set of shelves and touched something squishy that seemingly moved.

It was a snake. It was rubber and, if that matters, you’re not my friend. I screamed, jumped straight up and when I came back down, my phone was in my hand. I took a photo, sent it to Julie and said, “I quit. That gave me quite a start. You wretches!”

She thought it was hilarious.

I managed to get the saturated floor and carpet soaked up, then went to start breakfast for my client. As I walked into her cabin, the first thing I noticed was her refrigerator door was wide open. I paused and cocked my head, wondering if I should get in my car and drive away. No, I’m a professional.

The fridge was no longer running. It had quit from overuse apparently. Lucky fridge. Everything was warm to the touch, including my pies. I’d decided not to make clam dip until that morning and that was the only bright point in my day.

I managed to salvage Thanksgiving. The fridge started working when I shut the door and told it to stop pretending to be dead. My pies weren’t ruined, and Bill showed up with the big dinner, which was different, but not deadly, as my turkey and dressing is known to be.

And the best part was the clam dip. My client asked for seconds and happily ran her finger around the edge of her plate to get every drop. The day wasn’t a total failure. I didn’t have to cook. And nobody died.