The words over at Three Word Wednesday are drain, epic and nibble.
Frantic pounding is coming from the kitchen.
Against my better judgment, I shut off the TV and investigate.
Dad’s trying to wrestle a piece of sheet metal over the kitchen sink. He’s driving roofing nails into the Formica-covered countertop in an effort to secure the metal across the sink’s double stainless steel recesses.
Dad’s fancies himself as an experimental agronomist. He’s working in the sunroom on a new system of hydroponics. Something to do with Sea Monkeys in the water and recycling or recirculation. Regeneration, maybe.
I dunno, whatever.
Above dad’s every hammer-strike, however, are wet thuds against the metal. The thumpings, I notice, are coming from the drain. Something’s definitely fighting back against the metal cap. Several small dimples are quickly becoming one big dent.
“Epic,” I say, watching the metal dome grow with each successive upwelling.
“Jesus, don’t just stand there, grab a hammer and help me,” dad says. “Or else I’m going to lose containment here.”
I’m about to move forward, hammer in my fist, roofing nails clamped in my lips, when mom walks in the back door, cradling a brown paper sack of groceries.
She’s quick to assess the situation, drops the bag on the kitchen table and calmly walks to the sink and flips the switch on the disposal.
There’s a dry, hacking whir as the blade tries to make good work of the obstructions.
And from the cracks between the nails and now- misshapened metal, a putrid stench rises, like burnt hair and rotting fish.
Mom stands firm, with balled fists on her hips, shaking her head ever so slightly in the negative.
“That was to be my next move,” dad says, adjusting his glasses and nibbling slightly on his lower lip. “Say, how about Chinese for dinner, my treat?”