I love my plumber. And my plumber loves me.

A few years ago, the city redid the sidewalk behind our house (with bricks instead of cement). In the process, the contractor sheered off our vent pipe and then filled it all in with sand and bricked it over. A few days later we had raw sewage backing up in the house. I’m no plumbing expert, but that seemed like a problem to me. I called the plumber, B, and he came and spent about an hour trying to diagnose a blockage in the main sewer line in front. When he could find nothing wrong, he started investigating behind the house, where he found an odd smelly puddle pooling on the sidewalk. He took the bricks out and began digging, eventually unearthing the evidence of the contractor’s incompetence and gross negligence—while standing knee deep in sewage. (MY sewage, I might add.) He was incredulous and furious when he figured out what had happened. Then he ranted and raved on the phone to the city public works department and got them to come out and fix it within hours. (Nothing short of a miracle, that.) THEN he charged me $60 for an entire morning’s work. $60!!!! “You shouldn’t have to pay a cent,” he said at first, but threw out the sum of $60 when I insisted.

I love my plumber. And my plumber loves me.

He also remembers my kids’ names and asks me how they are doing when I call. (He knows his way into a mother’s heart.) And sometimes I spot him in his van when I am out in the neighborhood (or he spots me first), and he always beeps and waves. We haven’t had to have him over to solve any plumbing problems for quite some time, but just a few weeks ago when I was out running, he spotted me and beeped.

Today I finally called him to come and look at the leaking toilet in the master bath. Every time it is flushed, water pours out from behind the bowl. I’m no plumbing expert, but this seemed like a problem to me. But we have 2 other toilets in our little house (no attic, no basement, no storage, but by god we’ve got toilets!), so as far as I was concerned there was no emergency. I just taped the lid closed so no one would use it and P. and I moved our business to the hall toilet (conveniently located right outside our bedroom door). It’s been out of commission for months. (So long that sewer worms took up residence in the bowl. Who knew?)

Well, my parents are coming for the weekend and I was planning to have them sleep in our bedroom while P and I slept on the pull-out couch. So, because I wanted a working toilet for them, I called B and left a message. He called me this morning and P answered and then handed the phone to me (because in his opinion it only makes sense to capitalize on the fact that an expensive home contractor has a crush on your wife). I took the phone, and B—not one to be shy even though a woman's husband is standing 3 feet away—greets me with, “Hey Cutie.”

And then, after I explained my problem and he told me he could come by in an hour, the conversation went like this:

“So, everything else okay?”

“Yep.”

“Saw you on the street the other day. You’re looking pretty good.”

I love my plumber. And my plumber loves me.

And yes, my toilet is working just fine now.