Excelsior

If I understand it (a phrase that in this blog is always followed by the disclaimer, "and I don't") excelsior is a word coined by those wacky neologists of the 18th century, at least when it is used as an exclamation.
It sprang unbidden from my lips Saturday afternoon when, at last the hot water heater was finally installed. It took much longer than it should have mostly because the attempt to save time by not replacing the faucet meant doing everything twice including going to Home Depot for the ferrules. It also took a little extra time to find out which part was leaking when I had Karen turn it on, because down where I was, the water came out with the force of a fire hose and then bounced off all the obstacles under the sink, which were mostly my face and glasses, obscuring the source, which unsurprisingly was the the part I had taken apart since I wasn't replacing the faucet and put back together, sort of, when I was.
One thing I realized while I was laying half in and half out of the cabinet for two days is that Pilates is for weaklings and mama's boys. If you want to really feel the burn, lose the soft girly ball and balance your arched back across a wooden right angle. Water dripping down your arm and into your eyes and armpits can enhance the process in a way that has been declared legal but aggressive by the Justice Department.