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My laundry room is a wind tunnel.
Okay, backup: there's been this weird gray patch in the linoleum behind the upstairs bathroom toilet, and we finally realized that it's bigger than it used to be, and felt kind of squishy to the touch. Rip up the linoleum, and yep, the wax ring had degenerated, sprung a teeeeeeeny leak, and over the last year it's been seeping and growing mold underneath there. Joy.
The mold is through the floor and subfloor, so Mr. Clod removes the toilet, scrapes up the rest of the linoleum, and makes a big cutout in the floor for replacement. As he's trying to expose the joists so his drop-in piece will have something to actually sit on, his power saw nicks a pipe.
I am notified of this development when he starts screaming, in a way I have never heard him scream before, "Turn off the water! Turn off the water to the house!"
Water is steadily streaming out of several vents and light fixtures downstairs before I manage this. We get a plumber out to repair the pipe, and place the garage boxfan face-down into the hole to dry it out. But there are still very large watermarks in the ceiling, which are damp to the touch, and the laundry room reeks of mildew.
So a friend offers to lend us his "blower" to help us dry it from the bottom up as well. Turns out this item is full-on professional grade, a giant cylinder that can rotate at any angle, like the bat signal spotlight. It's in there, and it's working, but my tiny little laundry room is a wind tunnel.
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