I am and always have been an independent woman.

Except when it comes to plumbing and cars.

My significant other jetted to the west coast yesterday.

Recap…we have been attached at the hip for months and months.

He departs and the toilet immediately breaks…of course!

I heard a crash. Hoping it was a fender bender down the road I rushed to the front door, passing the guest bathroom.

As with an iceberg, a chunk of porcelain had fallen on the sodden floor.

I called my husband and gave him the plumber’s number. Thankfully, he had not taken off yet and he speaks  fluent plumbing.

I dread Friday when the plumber shows up with the new Toto toilet and I cannot speak plumberese…flange, elbow and nipple and perhaps the estimate doubles.

I am also responsible for taking the love of my husband’s life, his vintage Jaguar, in for service because the car lock remote thingie locks the car and yet mysteriously does not open it.

These vintage car appointments are more difficult to come by than a restaurant reservation at the Corner Store in New York City.

An 8am drop off 2 miles away is required and I have no husband for my ride or die.

Life goes on.

I need to make a deep dive into plumbing and car management although I can change a tire, pump gas and refill the oil and wiper fluid and I excel in vintage choke management. I have been schooled by the best. Pull out choke. Turn key to right, wait 8 seconds, start car, give it a moment, one accelerator pump and you are ready to boogie. Do not forget to push in choke all the way by the time you have reached the gate.

My beach paraphernalia bitch is also unavailable for heavy lifting.

Sadly, total Independence does have its annoying limitations.