She had to call someone. Who? Her mother. No, not her mother. If her mother found out about this, her “I told you so” would be so triumphant, Deena would vomit

Deena poked her calzone dough, frowned, and reached for her phone. Her sister Tzippi would commiserate.

“Very nice that you can adjust and push and pull and customize it to the ingredients’ consistency, but really, at the end of the day, a measuring cup has one job: to measure. And Mr. I-Won’t-Say-Names’s measuring cup can’t do that.”

“Are you serious?”

Deena poked the dough again. “I suspected something was wrong when my blondies came out all crumbly, and now my calzone dough feels like a rock.”

She took out her good old Pyrex measuring cup, filled it to the one-cup mark, and poured it into Mr. Katz’s measuring cup. The water reached a bit above the six-ounce mark.

“What a story,” Tzippi said wryly.

Deena dumped the dough in the garbage. Experience had taught her that trying to rescue dough was a waste of time, it never worked.

When Tzippi finished sighing for her, Deena hung up, took out all the ingredients again and got to work.

The yeast was proofing when she heard it. Water. Something was dripping. In the back of her apartment, it sounded like.

She ran down the hallway and stopped short in front of the laundry room. Water was streaming out the door, puddling in the hallway. Holding her breath, she pulled the door open.

Oh, no.

She stared in horror at the water dripping steadily down from the light fixture. A large circle had formed around the fixture base, and there was at least an inch of water accumulated on the floor.

Deena ran back down the hallway and grabbed her phone. She had to call someone. Who? Her mother. No, not her mother. If her mother found out about this, her “I told you so” would be so triumphant, Deena would vomit. I told you to move in with us, I told you it’s crazy to live alone, I told you, I told you.

She called Leah. “Water. From the ceiling. It’s pouring! Help!”

Leah calmly advised the obvious: “Call a plumber.” And she gave Deena a number.

“Shut the main!” the plumber barked as soon as he heard what had happened.

“How do I shut the main?”

“Just turn it off. Quickly. I’m in the middle of a job now, it’ll take me at least two hours to get to you. If you don’t shut the main immediately, you’re going to have a huge flood.”

“Okay, but, uh…” Deena turned her head up to the ceiling. The circle was growing. “Where is the main?”

“How should I know where the main is? I’ve never been in your house.”

Deena breathed deeply.

“Did you shut it?”

“No.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“I don’t know where the main is!”

“Well, find out where it is. Ask your husband. I’ll be there soon.”

Deena hung up the phone. Water streamed over her feet, but she didn’t move.

Ask your husband. Right.