Apparently, the folks in city hall are reading my blog: For the next two days, the water treatment plant in Collinsville will be closed while they perform "routine repairs" to the water treatment system. During this time, residents of the 'ville will be subject to a city-wide boil order. (Everything I've read refers to a City Wide Boil Order from the Water Treatment Plant, but since there's no ketchup bottle water tower in the Hundred Acre Wood, I think we can get by without the Excessive Capitalization for Dramatic Effect.)
The Gummer told me about the boil order a couple of days ago, but, despite the almost 40 years that she and I have been stationed in Communication Swamp, she seems to be oblivious to even the most rudimentary components of my sender-receiver combo. (Not that it's easy: I have ADHD (the actual kind, not the kind people diagnose themselves with when they realize they can't magically will themselves into a stupor in order to sit through something that is just BORING)). The Gummer told me about the boil order right after I woke up without securing my attention and without warning me that she was going to say a bunch of shit that I wouldn't remember and that she was going to say it all REALLY FAST. While trying to pour goldfish crackers into one of those... (I can't remember if they're nickel bags or dime bags. That's never been my thing.)... smaller-sized sandwich bags, I was hit with a fusillade of what I could do with water and when I could do it. Cue the spaz hands, and please stop the talking. I can't process that much information without marking it up with colored pencils. Buzz words only, woman. Buzz. Words. Only.
So today, when I wanted to take a bath, I decided to inquire about the guck quotient of water the 'ville. The Gummer whirled around with a Super Soaker filled with the exact same unedited information. I was holding a towel and a bottle of conditioner. It seemed pretty clear that I was not going to be making pasta in the next few minutes.
"Can I take a bath?"
"You can't wash your hands, but you can take a bath."
"I can't get the water on my hands, but I can put my vagina in it?"
"That's what the newspaper said."
So, thank you, Local Newspaper Which Shall Remain Nameless. Even though you consistently provide recklessly sensationalized coverage of tragic events with no apparent regard for the people connected to the stories, you still care enough to really personalize this Boil Water Order.
P.S. My vagina says hey. It also wants me to tell you that if it went to five colleges, then surely your staff should be able to sneak into a course or two.
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