Did you ever spend so much time with your head upside down that you got a little dizzy? Well,’ a LOT dizzy? Like you feel all of the blood rush to your TONGUE and then you’re feeling like you’ve just been to the dentist or perhaps someone put the spec tongue inside your head instead of the custom sized Weetatongue and everything’s all hot and weird?
So, I’ve spent most of the day inhaling household chemicals, in case you couldn’t tell. And that involved trying to de-soapscum my tub/shower. Esteban and I even made a special trip out to our local mass merchandiser to purchase the appropriate chemicals because I had run out of Scrub Free. This time, however, instead of purchasing lemon scented Scrub Free, I spotted a nice big bottle of something called ‘The Works’ and I remembered that when we moved from our apartment to our house, I used The Works on the tub. Now, my math isn’t scientific but I know that during the three and a half years that we lived in that apartment, we had three pre-planned overnight guests, so I’m pretty sure that the tub was cleaned at least three times, but to estimate any cleanings that were without pain of social embarrassment would be stretching things. We were in our early twenties and the urge to clean because something is dirty is like wisdom teeth or something. It just doesn’t kick in until you hit a quarter century. One day you realize that you shouldn’t need golf cleats to stand safely in the shower. I’m certain this probably kicks in at different rates between males and females. For instance, I’m still waiting for this to kick in with my husband. The toilet could look like a Jackson Pollack painting and he would still be ‘manning the hose’ as it were.
Chemicals. Remember that. Chemicals.
So during the twenty hour ‘Race To Reclaim Security Deposit’ back in 1996, ‘The Works’ had done a pretty good job on our skankified tub. So I figured, ‘Hey, that will be better than Scrub Free’. Of course, I had forgotten that I had been high for three days after using ‘The Works’ in a poorly ventilated area and I spontaneously lost five pounds afterwards. I suspect it was all brain tissue.
So I sprayed ‘The Works’ on the tub and shower and fixtures. And started scrubbing. And that’s when I noticed that the tub spigot looked a little’ funny. This is when a normal person would have tried to scrub the funny stuff off, but do I? Hell no! That’s way on the other end of the tub! I just keep working on the tub, using my Scumbuster, squirting chemicals every which way. And then I noticed that the spigot was REALLY starting to look funny.
So I tried to wipe the splotchiness off.
Didn’t come off.
Did I mention that this is the new hardware that I just picked out last year during the Big Bathroom Overhaul? The hardware that cost more than my first car?
My immediate thought? ‘Oh my god, my faucet is spotted like Michael Jackson’s penis.’
I am not making that up. Why would anyone even make something like that up? I think the voices that live inside my brain are stuck in 1983. Wait’ did we know his penis was spotted back in 1983? Or did that all come out during one of the crazy Jacksonfests in the LA courtrooms? Regardless, I’m just in awe of the automatic metaphor mechanism that lives inside my brain. Comparing a faucet to a penis’ and a spotted one at that. It’s not often that I blow my own’ horn’. but sometimes you just have to take a step back and say ‘Marge, would you just look at what the dog drug into the house? And all over the damn rug? Aw cripes, he’s rolling in it! Get the Febreeze!’
I took a moment to complain to Esteban, who then read the back of the bottle where it said that you should not allow The Works to come in contact with several materials, including chrome. And you should not taunt The Works. Because it will kick your ass and make you see pretty colors and think about the freakish genitals of freakish popstars. I’m afraid to go to work on the toilet. Maybe Comet will bring to mind Ozzy Osbourne’s anus.
Oh! I just remembered: walking through O’Hell airport with exactly zero hours of sleep and a laptop that weighs eight million pounds, I proclaimed to God and everyone (although I suspect that only Lori was listening): ‘I like to poop in airplanes. You can’t hear anything and you can just let loose with the poodles.’
I am so going to delete this tomorrow.
The message board never gets deleted.
