This is the written scream I left for husband Saturday morning. Please note there are no cuss words in it. I'd already used them all up standing in the shower with a rogue sprayer and a very bad attitude. Let me set the scene: it's 6am on a Saturday morning. Father-in-law (FIL) is in town, which means my whole routine has been thrown off. I'm not going to bed when I should. I'm eating too much. I'm napping during the day because I'm not going to bed when I should and I'm eating too much; a viscous cycle that will continue until FIL leaves. I was showering in the master bathroom because FIL is here and I've been booted out of the guest bathroom. And, I had a CPR retraining class at 9am, which is why I was attempting to not only shower at 6am on a Saturday but function like a normal human being. Gah!
I hate the master bathroom. It's all pukey pink and moldy smells and isn't big enough to turn around in let alone share with another person. And sharing with another person who doesn’t see the mess because he can “choose not to see it” is not ideal. Add to that the handheld showerhead contraption that was added to the crappy shower as an afterthought a million years ago is a pain to use, never stays fixed on its hook and has two settings; wimpy and freaking hard. The stupid thing wiggles in the wall, squirts instead of sprays and is generally the total opposite of relaxing as you stand in the tub, wrangling the spray in the general direction of your body and not the hideous pink tile wall it seems to always want to spray. The whole thing is the least spa-like experience one can have. So, Saturday morning, I reach down past the plastic curtain to the faucet in the tub and turn it on, adjust the hot and cold taps until I get the ideal temperature, pull the doo-hicky that directs the water to the shower head and with the shower warming up, start to undress my bleary eyed body. SIDE NOTE: I tried to figure out how to tell this story without having you picture me naked so but it’s a shower story so you’re just going to have to imagine for the sake of my pride, that I am a never-nude and I shower with all my jiggly bits clothed… Anyway, as I was working on the undressing bit, there was slight pop from the shower direction and then growing hiss and suddenly water began spraying past the plastic curtain wall and ALL OVER THE BATHROOM! I was getting wet – which I know was the goal but not just then. The wall, the door, the ceiling, the spray was so out of control that husband was in danger of drowning in the bedroom five feet away. I quickly shut the taps off and attempted to assess the situation. Fumbling for my glasses, I shoved them on my face, checked that the shower head was facing the tub and not the shower curtain, turned the shower back on and was promptly sprayed full in the face by a sharp poky stream of hot water, saved only from blindness by the lens of my glasses. It is here the cussing began, albeit quietly and under my breath because of the sleeping husband and FIL and my dignity and the partial drowning. I stood there, face dripping trying to figure out what to do next. Let me tell you, I’m usually a brilliant problem solver but half-naked, half-blind and sopping wet on a Saturday morning does not bring out my brilliant side. I couldn’t use the guest bathroom because it’s got an ineffective lock and the trauma from catching FIL in the bathroom years ago is still with me. I couldn’t go without a shower because I am not built to function without one in the mornings. Besides, an Afro after a night of tossing and turning does not resemble a hairstyle. More like an abstract textured art piece that does not at all say, “Take me seriously. I can save lives.” I came to the conclusion that the shower was going to have to happen, broken shower hose or not. Cussing slightly louder, I finished undressing, pulled off my glasses, turned the shower back on and pushed my way past the ineffective plastic curtain. Yanking the showerhead off its hook, I proceeded to try and clean myself with a spray head that directed the water everyway but the direction I wanted it to go all the while trying to keep the flooding below the curtain rail and hopefully out of the rest of the bathroom. FACT: It is hard to shave an armpit with a razor when one hand is holding a showerhead and the other is trying to hold soap and a razor and trying not to draw blood. FACT: It is hard to effectively wash a body with a showerhead that is as wily as a wet cat and just as dangerous. Add to that it's current propinquity to keeps popping new deadly holes in its hose and things are going to go horrible wrong. And those dang holes, no matter what I did, seemed to direct water right up my nose, stinging like tiny needles of fire. I will not mention what happened to my nether regions when I attended to clean them because the shame is too great. Suffice it to say, I finally quit pretending the process was working with half a pit shaved, one very wet ear, some major water bruising and a haphazard attempt to clean myself. Shower off, I resorted to shaving my arm pits crouched down next to the tub faucet, rinsing by using the old fashion method of scooping water and throwing it at my pit and actively pretending it was washing off the soap and shorn hairs. It did not. Finally dried off and dressed in clothes that did their best to hide my shoddy shaving job, I dried off the walls and the floor and the window and the toilet and the mirror and stomped out of the bathroom and past sleeping Husband into the office where I composed my very aggressive missive to Husband. A message he might have totally ignored dismissed had I not shame posted it on Facebook for all to see. I have no end to this story. Well, other than to say the shower was finally fixed and my husband’s life continues. No one cared I was partially clean and mostly soggy. No one was sympathetic to the trauma I’d incurred via the major violation by showerhead had occurred. No one will see the movie about this story when it is eventually made. The world continues to spin and I continue to be traumatized by the day-to-day activities that everyone seems to manage unscathed. Such is my life.
2 Comments
Q.D
6/3/2015 08:58:36 pm
It is the shame facebook posting that is my favourite part!
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ej
6/6/2015 10:59:42 pm
We have a saying, if it's not on Facebook, it didn't happen!
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AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
April 2019
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