If you're going to have a plumber, it's best if he's Scottish. There's no messin' around.
"Aye," plumber Scott said, "it's aefauldly knackered."
He could have ended that sentence with "ka-ching" because that was coming next.
"What are the damages," I enquired as tepidly as the "hot" water running out of my taps.
"Well, it's never easy these things, is it?" Scott ruminated.
I heard, "Ka-Ching."
Scott mused, "There's the piping and the grommets and the widgets and the whatzits and you'll need two thing-a-ma-bobs." Scott was lost in a vision of driving his new BMW.
I heard, "KA-Ching."
"Oh, and there's the haulin' and shovin' and pushin' ... all uphill ... both ways."
I heard, "KA-CHING." "Will there be bagpipes," I asked?
"Oh, aye, and haggis! Ye do have a nice supply of single malt, I hope. Helps the installation a treat."
And with that Scotty danced a little jig out to his truck while I rummaged around in the liquor cabinet for some single malt.
"Might as well start now," I thought, and poured myself a double KA-CHING.