Did anyone notice?

Yesterday was Bastille Day.
The only reason I mention it is because it also happens that it was exactly 31 days after Friday the 13th, which was slightly more significant around our house.
I wonder. Did Noah say, "Oh Sh*t!!!" when it rained and the flood started?
The day started out innocently enough. Heck, as retirees days and dates mean almost absolutely nothing to Sharon and me. We wandered out to the kitchen sometime around 6:30am, made the coffee, retrieved the newspaper and leisurely started our day. Yes, I said 6:30am. Neither of us is much into sleeping in. One of us goes to bed at sunset and the other has a hard time sleeping much more that seven hours.
The paper must have had an unusual number of items of interest because it was almost a full hour before I ventured back to the rear of the house. As I approached the master bedroom though the hallway I encountered one of the last things... other than termites... that a homeowner ever wants in his living quarters.
WATER!!!
That's not what I said.
The carpet in the hall was soaked. On the plus side it was preventing the water from migrating further across the back of the house. It seems that the supply to the toilet in the master bath had picked that morning to give way. The bedroom and both bathrooms (they share a common wall) were about an inch deep in water. Thank heaven it was a supply line and not 'the other kind.'
Anyway, 31 days -- Friday the 13th to Bastille Day -- is how long it has taken to finally move back into our own bedroom and regain the full use of all of the facilities. Over that time we've discovered that the hide-a-bed in the family room isn't all that uncomfortable and that the bed in the "guest" room ain't too shabby either, but neither of them has the proper groove worn into the places where we're most comfortable.
Somebody told us that the true lifespan of a mattress is something like three years. I'll leave that alone for now.