First-world/grown-up problems alert: the plumbing in our suburban home continues to flare up and send me into an anxiety spiral every few weeks. Our master bath shower, situated above the formal dining room we never use (#kids), will occasionally–usually once I’ve forgotten it’s a possibility–develop a leak that sends water dripping onto the floor below, causing our older son to rush in, point to the puddle, and proclaim, “Uh oh. Wet,” just before transferring his point upward to the ceiling and the makeshift opening that’s been there for months, a product of the first of four plumbers we’ve had evaluate the situation, and the proclamations continue: “Hole. Uh oh–hole.”

Yeah. Uh oh. Despite the number of experts we’ve had visit our abode, and despite the number of times that ceiling has gone from damp to wet to sagging to leaking, no one seems to be able to pinpoint a problem. We had the bathroom remodeled before we moved in six years ago and my growing concern is that the contractor did a shoddy job, and one day the whole damn thing is going to fall apart. But until then, apparently, our plumbing manages to get its shit together anytime it’s under professional observation. Which is annoying to no end.

And also a nagging metaphorical reminder of the parts of myself I’m so good at pretending, in front of others, are in perfect working order when, underneath, the whole system is just one big broken mess.

Read the rest over at Mockingbird!