My name's BrYan, and I'm a plumber

Early Monday night, as we were about to leave for a family dinner out (to celebrate Duncan's graduation), and to return Wendy's car, we heard a funny "pop-thud-thhhhhhhhhhhhhh". At first I just chose to ignore it, but after a few seconds I decided to go check out what was going on (read: Kat was panicking about the noise and needed hunky manly man BrYan to go and risk his life and limb to identify the noise, unwittingly encountering the first-ever recorded mythical beastie gargantuan meat-eating gecko and be consumed by its gaping maw, granting Kat an advanced yet futile warning of her imminent demise [this is my blog so I'm entitled to be dramatic]).

I investigated the noise coming from the guest bathroom (yes we have two bathrooms now! What a blessing ... I call the guest bathroom the Xbox bathroom on account of Kat playing on the Xbox while being on the bodger - it's amazing! You can bath and see the TV... You can pooh and see the TV! Bruce and Ant designed the bathroom with a man in mind!), and found water pouring out from the cupboard underneath the sink. Being the quick-thinking stud that I am, I opened the cupboard doors only to receive a jet of conveniently-directed steam to the face. Like any super-stud, I realised I had to cut off the supply, but had no idea where it was. By now the floor was covered in hot water and the flat was slowly flooding. I summoned our landlord, who arrived quick as a flash and directed me to the stop-valve, which was residing on the roof.

I climbed out, and, with my hands clutching to the railing like a rock-spider's hairy legs would to a rock (or something), I used my nimble foot, disabled the valve, and etched the next milestone achievement into my blog forevermore. I saved the flat. I was a hero. I was ... a PLUMBER.

Next began the mopping-up stage. Rolling my jeans up to over my ankles ala Tom Sawyer (sans the straw hat), I had managed to remove most of the water from the affected floor areas of the flat within thirty minutes. Kat rejoiced at my rippling muscles, studly aura, and quick-thinking ingenuity (no point in laughing because I can't hear you anyway. This is a blog). I quipped in my manly drawl "it's time to get to dinner now, little lady" and off we went...*

(*... And not a moment too soon, because I didn't want to be the first person to be eaten by the legendary gargantuan mildly aggressive bathroom gecko!)