plumb

 * My father's older brother was a plumber in a small town. He disproved the saying that a cobbler's children always go shoeless and barefoot because his house was perfectly plumbed. Visiting every June was a hot, humid trip with the added  indignity of being dragged around for exposition and display in front of relatives and people I had no interest in and seemingly nothing but blood in common with. (I wish now that I had been more interested in them, but, kids, what can you do with them!) Dinner out was the MO because his wife did not cook. To her credit, she worked the books for the plumbing business so probably after a day fiddling with numbers cooking was not so much looked forward to. After a day of people pleasing a tidy up for me was necessary before dining out and my uncle had plumbed a claw foot bathtub as a second wash up place to get visitors into the restaurant bound cars faster. He put it in the just barely able to stand up, angled, slope roofed attic. A window beside the tub presented a treetop bathing view. The uniqueness of the tub, the attic, the view and the at last I get to be alone by myself relief tended to slow my ablutions so that I was always the last to hop into the car as it pulled away from the curb. This timing was unfortunate because that meant I had to ride in the backseat behind my uncle with my window up and closed to avoid the tobacco juice which he periodically spit out of his window. Everybody else dibbed the good seats.