So last fall, our hot tub stopped working. We had a guy — a big redneck named Frenchy — come out & charge us $90 to tell us it would be at least another $300-400 to fix it. And since our finances were a smidge rocky at the time (Bobby leaving his job, that sort of thing), we decided to put the cover on it & worry about it later.

Fast forward to last week. I’m raking leaves off the deck & notice that the hot tub cover is askew. I nudge it with my foot & the most rancid smell EVER IN THE WHOLE WORLD wafts out. The water is black & slimy, & smells like… well, all kinds of bad. So I put the lid back on & do what you’re supposed to do when you find something nasty… I went to find my husband.

BEFORE the hot tub

We flipped the lid off & discovered that four squirrels had gone snorkeling without their equipment. Good times. So we’re standing on the deck, staring into the Cauldron of Death & trying not to puke. Bobby & I aren’t in the medical field for a reason. That reason would be that we don’t like guts or death or anatomy up close. Bobby took charge of the excavation in that Bobby sort of way, & decides to pump the water out. At which point I say “I HOPE you don’t think you’re gonna pump that nasty shit into our yard,” which was exactly what he was thinking. So we found garden hoses, hooked them all together & sent the putrid brew into the little gully behind our property.

By the time the water was drained with its little treasures left in the bottom of the tub, it was nearly midnight. And of course, Bobby can’t just put the lid on it & finish the next morning. Oh no. We must finish this gruesome process TONIGHT. Bobby goes & gets a shovel & bucket, & I’m standing there lending moral support with my face my shirt. Like my shirt’s gonna keep out the smell. Ya’ll, it was like our own little Stephen King novel — kinda “Pet Sematary, the Hot Tub Sequel.” I lasted about 5 more minutes before finally bailing… I felt kinda bad leaving Bobby out there, but not bad enough to stay. Headed straight for the shower to scrub myself raw.

After a couple packets of pool shock & several gallons of bleach, the Cauldron of Death is now pristine. Frenchy the Redneck came back out & for another $90, told us that the heating unit AND the pump is now blown. Blarg. This whole hot tub thing is overrated. Seriously. I know I’ll love it again when it’s working & the memory of the bubbling brew has faded. But right now? I’m wondering if it needs to go to the curb along with the vacuum cleaner, doghouse, & skunky beer.