So I'm washing the dishes, and the water keeps getting cooler and cooler.

By the end, I'm using only water from the "hot" tap, and it's barely warm.

This is not good.

But we had tremendous winds early this morning. It's possible the pilot light was just blown out.

I peek into the darkened corner of the furnace room, around the stacks and stacks of clay flower pots stuffed with dried soil and see...

A pool of water. Under the water heater.

This is not good.

There's a steady drip coming from the heater's lower valve. A peek inside confirms the pilot light is off and...

The bottom of the heater is rusted. And filled with a quarter inch of water.

This is not good.

Five or so hours later, youngest son and I have cleared enough clay pots and terrariums out of the way to measure and assess the heater, driven to town to steal the wife's SUV, waited as the hardware guys searched and searched for the new water heater I bought that their computer says exists, cleared the hallway of six racks of unwatched videotapes and struggled the new heater down the stairs.

As we use a garden hose to drain the old heater to the floor drain, youngest son calls out, "It's not draining!" And it's not. The water has filled the drain, and is slowly spreading across the floor.

This is not good.

We try plunging. Both sizes. No good. I try the snake. Still no sucking of water down to the nether sewer.

This is not good.

It is now after four o'clock on the Friday afternoon before a huge summer three-day weekend. There are only two plumbing outfits in town. One's not answering their phone, the other goes instantly to voicemail.

This is not good.

And youngest son, who was supposed to be house-sitting in Capitol City three hours ago, finally has to hit the road.

This is not good. Not good at all.