Don't mention this post to Keith... ever.

Saturday morning, I took a long hot shower. It was great. Except the tub wouldn't drain. I blamed it on the fact that Keith bathed Dodger Friday night.
Keith was on a shoot, so I plunged and plunged and plunged.
Keith came home and plunged.
And then he dumped a gallon of turbo Drano down the drain.
Then we left for a party, both a little agitated by the thought of coming home to six inches of standing, dirty, drano water in the tub.
On the way home, we bought a snake.
Keith spent 30 minutes and got no more than 8 inches down the drain.
He examined the options - could we open pipes in the basement and remove the blockage?
At this point, it's important to point out that 15 hours later, the water hasn't drained AT ALL except when we plunged. This is more than a hair issue, I think...
Back to the pipes - they're glued closed. Crazy. (And stupid)
We went to bed, really agitated by the standing water.
And dirty.
And resenting the whole homeownership thing as we spent all last weekend fixing the washing machine.
So we woke up, went to church, and showered and Keith's parents' house (GREAT day with Lane, by the way - pictures to follow).
On our way home, Keith called my dad for advice. They started plotting how to saw the pipe downstairs, rebuild the plumbing, "so that it's right."
But we have kind of a busy week, so Keith vowed to give the snake one more shot and then just call a plumber.
So while I was rocking out to Guitar Hero III (I might be addicted), Keith worked the snake again. "I'm prepared to be disappointed," he said going in, with a resigned expression.
He came out ten minutes later.

So??

"We won't speak of this to anyone. Ever."

What?

"The plug was pulled. I flipped the switch and the tub drained like a champ!"

At least it wasn't the plumber who told us....