Tag Archives: shower

It’s the Little Things

We’ve all had those days when nothing monumentally bad happens, but yet there are a bunch of little things that simply make you want to absolutely lose your shit, so to speak.

so-not-funny-i-forgot-to-not-laugh

Big picture? They’re not a big deal.

Small picture in that moment? The straw that broke the camel’s back. The last thing you need. THE BIGGEST DEAL EVER!

Let’s begin, perhaps with someone overusing CAPITAL LETTERS and exclamation points!!!

Anyway, I love my hooded sweatshirts. When it’s freezing outside and I want to pretend I’m a turtle with the option to retract myself back into my shell, the hood serves as my delusional means of escape. Plus, it’s warm.

But there are times when the string of my hoodie will mysteriously disappear into the depths of the hood itself. Sound the alarm! Call in the rescue squad! This is a traumatic turn of events, as it will then require me to somehow try and manipulate the string back to the opening through the use of tweezers and profanity.

By the time I prove myself as a hoodie hero and restore balance to my universe through the miraculous string rescue, I’m exhausted and ready to retreat back into the comfort of my cotton cocoon. I think I should start a support group.

Let’s journey down to the other end of the clothing spectrum and the socks I’ve already shamed.

If you’ve ever worn snow boots outside, you know the scenario. You come in, try and slip your boots off and move on with your life and find that your sock has been swallowed up into the depths of the boot. Of course you discover this when you pull out your foot and step down into the pile of snow that your boot has just left on the floor.

The only thing that makes this situation worse is when you go to put your sock back on and discover you have a jagged little piece of toenail that gets stuck on a string inside of the sock, creating a painful, snag-filled scenario or a new hole in the sock and your sanity.

Sigh…let’s move on.

Like most people, I enjoy a hot shower. What I don’t enjoy is turning off the water of said shower, discovering that although I’ve just spent 10 minutes in the direct stream of water I’ve neglected to rinse out my shampoo and that I also forgot to put a new towel on the rack.

The cat is no help, as you know.

Then there’s this food situation, and for me, anything that involves food is usually a highly-serious “situation” not to be messed with. There’s nothing more disappointing than cutting into an avocado and discovering that it’s a) 50 percent pit or b) bruised beyond belief. This can apply to other fruits and vegetables as well, but it will usually only happen to the one item you were REALLY looking forward to eating at that exact moment.

Put down the sharp kitchen objects and slowly back away from the counter. It’s not worth it.

And while I could add a million and 12 different technology-related items to this short list, I will narrow it down to leaving a very long and insightful/witty comment on a blog only to be confronted with a captcha. Not just any captcha, but one that completely resets the page—erasing your comment in the process—every time you fail the captcha (one that looks like an impossible Rorschach test, I might add.)

Adding insult to injury? Having to look up how to spell “captcha” in order to complain about it. At that point, it’s the straw that broke the camel’s back. The last thing you need. THE BIGGEST DEAL EVER!

Just take a deep breath and retreat into your hoodie. Everything will probably work out—except that flipping captcha.

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Shower Power

Here’s the deal.

While I like my cat enough and everything, I’m not one to spoil her and treat her like the child I’ll never have. I don’t do clingy, and (she lets me think) we have an agreement regarding our boundaries.

Monie can do whatever she wants except jump up on things (not an issue, as she’s not really athletic,) sleep in my bed or hang out in the bathroom while I’m in there.

I’m don’t need her staring up at me while I’m on the toilet or getting into the shower, silently judging me with her eyes. I figure I don’t camp out outside her shit box, so she shouldn’t camp out outside mine.

Then again, she does bathe in random rooms around the house, so I suppose our boundaries are a bit blurred.

All of this is to say that her new “favorite” place to camp out is directly in front of the register in the bathroom—the one located between the toilet and the counter and directly across from the shower.

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She had never shown any interest in the bathroom before and I didn’t realize this was a new “thing” until I was in there and heard her little bell as I stepped out of the shower. I shooed her out and didn’t think much of it until later that week when I pulled back the shower curtain and found the furry little beast sitting in the middle of the tub.

A more pleasant surprise than a spider, for sure, but still not entirely welcome.

Anyway, I’m letting her have her own little space next to the heater when the bathroom isn’t in use, simply because a) I choose to believe she likes the warmth and isn’t some kind of a pervert and b) it keeps her out of my hair when I need to do important things like eat or Swiffer.

And while I refuse to allow an audience for normal toilet things, I am thinking she might be able to serve a purpose for those times I’m in the shower.

You see, it’s been my experience that showers are a great place to spend 9 minutes thinking about all of your problems and 1 minute actually showering. If she wants to hang out while I’m reading the back of the shampoo bottles out loud in the multiple languages—“Shampoo/shampooing” “cranberry oil/huile de canneberge” —she might as well make herself useful.

If she can complete either of these tasks on a regular basis, she can stay:

1) Along with thinking about all of my problems, I also compose great literary works while showering. I think it’s something about the steam releasing all the creative things from my brain or something. Look it up. It’s probably a thing.

I will dictate these brilliant thoughts out loud for Monie to transcribe so my thoughts aren’t sucked down the drain with the suds. I know it doesn’t sound possible, but SOMEONE’S been adding “catnip” to the grocery list and it hasn’t been me. Let’s put those skills to good use.

2) Michigan is cold in the winter, and most days I could stay in the hot shower until my skin resembles a sunburned prune. This is not good for either my skin or the water bill, so if Monie can somehow reach her little paw in and shut off the water when a timer goes off, that would be most helpful.

Oh, and warming up my towel in the dryer would be a nice touch.

All in all, I think my proposal is fair. If she doesn’t want to comply, she can scoot her furry feet out of the bathroom when I’m there—as long as she stays off my bed.

We have boundaries, after all.

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A Silver Lining

Do you have an extra hour?

If so, I invite you to watch me attempt to replace the shower curtain liner. 

This is a task that must be done on a regular basis, lest one plans on growing an assortment of invasive species in their shower. But it’s often complicated by a) the ridiculous metal rings that have to be opened and closed and b) the fact that I’m me.

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It starts with the purchase of the $5 vinyl liner from Target, simply because I’m fancy, and then the placement of the packaged liner on the counter for at least two weeks while I muster up the motivation to enter into this bathroom battle.

Once I feel sufficiently motivated and occasionally medicated, I pull out the scissors and cut down the old liner. This saves me the work of opening the ridiculously stubborn hooks for at least a few minutes more.

After the old liner is properly discarded though, the real work begins.

With an air of demented determination, I set out to pinch open the bastard hook things as fast as I can, trying to ward of the agonizingly painful feeling of having to hold up my arms for what feels like at least two or three hours.*

*about 10 minutes

Once the rings are all open and I regain the feeling in my separated shoulders and numb arms, I pat myself on the back—it’s good to recognize small victories—and begin hanging up the new liner.

This is a relatively easy part of the process, what with the rings already open, but it never fails that I step into the shower to hang the thing up and step in one random small droplet of water.

If there’s not a helpline for people who step in small droplets of water with clean socks on while changing the shower curtain liner, there needs to be.

Or I could just remember to take off my socks.

At any rate, once the new liner is hung and a second congratulatory break is taken, I set out to pinch shut the bastard hook things as fast as I can, trying to ward of the agonizingly painful feeling of having to hold up my arms for what feels like at least two or three hours.*

*about two or three minutes

When the last hook is snapped, I can exhale, change my socks and take comfort in the fact that I won’t have to do this again for at least a few months. Unless I did it wrong and missed a hook somewhere along the way, in which case I will cry and have an extra hook hanging around for a bit.

Then again, it’s one less hook left to close.

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zazzle

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