The sixteen-year-old hot water heater in our basement started to wet itself
when the house-shopping plumber came in for the open house today.  Did I
mention that we’re selling this place ourselves? Yeah.  Great. 
Part-time real-estating. Ask me anything about the "Statement of
Condition" form. Anything. Maybe we’ll turn it over to a professional in
early June.

The water heater isn’t gushing yet.  Probably got another hot shower or
two in there.  I replaced the thermocouple
this winter; figured that would get us through the sale of the house.  No
such luck.

Fine with me that the plumber won’t be buying the house.  He could’ve
offered to fix the leak he provoked by tapping on stuff.  He just walked
around the house, knocking on the walls, looking behind furniture, grumbling
about the tangle of copper lines that *is* the ceilingof the garage.  No
aesthetic sensibility, this guy. Those pipes all criss-crossing are beautiful and masterfully crafted. Unconditionally, he wins Most Irritating
Visitor among the three shoppers who stopped by today.  The other two were
upbeat and polite. 

Between online course conversions and house-selling, I’ve been swamped. And
now I’ve got a hot water heater dilemma to sort through.  Took one call
already from a guy who wants $525 to install a new one.  "No," I
said, "It’s spelled R-h-e-e-m."  Dunno if I can handle replacing
a gas water heater on my own. But for 500 bucks, it had better come with a scalding
sponge bath.

 Due to post a serious entry at the blog any time now.  Maybe even
later today.