“You’re from the city,” said the guy in the overalls. He was crouched under the sink in the bathroom, quite a feat for such a big guy. At the moment, he was paused … meaningfully. I knew I was going to feel like a fool the moment he started talking.
“Never had a well before?” One eyebrow was raised. Always a bad sign.
“We’re from Boston,” I said, vaguely embarrassed by the admission.
“Yup. Condensation. Well water’s cold, air’s wet so everything else is wet too. Perfectly normal, ayup. That’s the way it is, out here. In the country.”
“Oh.” I am rendered speechless. Some version of embarrassment. Around here, I hesitate admitting that I’m “from the city.” It’s the pitying looks that follow. They slay me.
Turns out, it’s raining. Indoors. Anyplace in the house not air-conditioned is sodden.
The dogs refused to go out this morning, preferring the back porch. It’s a lot dryer than the ground everywhere else. I can’t believe this ugly weather. I was miserable when it was cold and wet, but now it’s hot and wet. Which turns out to be worse. Who’d have thunk it?
“So, is there anything I can do? I mean to prevent having pools of water all over the house? Can’t be good for the floors.”
“Hrmph. Try towels. Absorb the water.”
“Right. What was I thinking?”
Welcome to the country, city gal.