The morning of my daughter's wedding dawned bright and sunny with crisp blue skies and not a cloud to be seen.
But it was raining...
Inside the house.
"JOEL!!!" I yelled to my husband from inside my bathroom where I had just discovered the deluge cascading from the ceiling. "It's raining in the bathroom!"
I heard his hurried steps pound up the stairs before he appeared breathless at the door.
He assessed the situation and then said succinctly, "Well, that's not good."
"Not good" was putting it mildly. We had a full house with the bridal couple-to-be in one bedroom, my son and his girlfriend in another, three bridesmaids bunked up in another bedroom and several assorted members of the bridal party elsewhere on the premises. There were three bathrooms, and apparently one of them was leaking and one of them was being leaked into. And we had a wedding to all get ready for later that afternoon.
It was like the movie "Mamma Mia!" met "Titanic."
"Turn off the water upstairs!" I shouted to my husband.
"Don't flush the toilet," yelled my husband upstairs.