In our house, we have a bathroom. Yeah, I know we are living pretty posh. Last week I forced my ten year old to read an article about a shanty town in Nairobi, in which the dwellers (particularly the women and young girls) are so frightened to leave their improvised huts at night that they are forced to evacuate into plastic bags. Said bags are then tossed out of the shacks, hence their moniker: “flying toilets”. The resulting waste mounds have led to an increased risk of disease of course, prompting an upstart company to invent the bio-degradable flying toilet. You might ask yourself, why does this woman force such knowledge onto her impressionable young child. Perspective friends, I can think of a good fifteen people who may be in need of a good dose of it. Anyhow, back to my decadent bathroom.
I have been accused, by at least one person, of harboring a tendency towards obsessive compulsive disorder. You see, I live in a 100+ year old house. Apparently, those many moons ago, builders weren’t compelled to incorporate linen closets into their middle income houses, hence the towel shelf. Lucky for me, when we moved into our glorious home, my mother-in-law donated a two-shelf stand to hold up my bath towels and other wash accessories. This god-send I strategically placed against the wall opposite of the shower. Given that I am the only woman in a house full of males, it is a safe assumption that I am the one doing the most sitting. As I sit, ridding myself of coffee, I am forced to contemplate the arrangement of the towels many times a day. We have striped wash cloths, solid wash cloths, and also both of towels. When I arrange said items after washing, I coordinate them. It has been my great misfortune to have my husband notice this tendency of mine. He has taken, at every opportunity, to sliding a solid towel in with a striped one, a striped wash cloth into a solid pile, etc. I am starting to feel like Julia Robert’s hubby in that movie “Sleeping with the Enemy”. I am contemplating hiding all of the bathing accoutrements until he repents, excepting one hand towel. The resulting video I shall post on you tube tagged as “Brittney Spears Nude”.
Also, just asking, but why is it that it is now possible to get a degree in Social Networking??? As I sit, proud un-employed bearer of a useless History degree, I can’t help but wonder if my time couldn’t have been better well spent pursuing a degree in Online Social Network Automated Grammar and Faux Pas Correcting. Imagine the embarrassment that could be prevented if there was application that would prevent you from tweeting, face booking, or myspacing your every marital spat, drunken rant, or infectious disease update??? Lives could be spared. Not to mention the fact that no one would ever be able to report that they were going to “hook up with their bff tomarrow” (it is killing my ocd, and my spell check to leave that as is, but I am just pointing out, tomorrow does NOT have an A in it people).
More stuff you don’t need to know. In order to justify the insistence that my boys participate in our town library’s summer reading program, I too signed up for the adult experience. I don’t know how many of you are readers, but I am a book addict. There is no other way of define me. Not surprisingly, after twenty years of reading adult literature, I pretty much know what I like. Unfortunately, the adult requirements (including reading six books in six weeks, which is pretty easy, though I have felt a little guilty reading on the side) include CATEGORIES. For instance, one book must be in a genre new to you (unless they have invented a new one, that isn’t possible for me, I read “The Bell Jar” for that one), a novel set at the beach (read some librarian recommended cookie-cutter character tripe called Beachcombers), an outdoor adventure (post-Korean war novel I picked and totally dug called “The Surrendered”. If you’re searching for new stuff, I highly recommend it), something Beautiful Throughout (really?!), etc. Why is it that you cannot pick your own six books??? How am I to know what category a book will fit in till I read it anyhow? One book to go, the “beauty throughout” selection (librarians recommendation, the very one who suggested the sappy “women’s read”). Wish me luck. Starting “The Flowers” by Dagoberto Gills. I will hope for the best and promise myself to the new Ha Jin novel.
