So I was a proud Condo owner for one year...but now it is time to move on. Today my realtor came over - Trey. Very nice guy, cheesy looking, tall, good dresser, very professional and can be suprisingly funny...in case you needed help picturing him in your head.
I have my half-marathon in two weeks (yes, this will be relevant later) and was ten minutes late. Luckily my Charlotte-like roomie Misty was keeping him company before I arrived. I had planned to take an ice bath right after my run but waited to do the business of talking shop with Trey. It was decided that I should remove my beloved dining room table in an effort to make my dining room seem bigger. How does one just remove a bigger yet beloved piece of furniture? They call the folks.
Here's a sidenote: My parents were INCREDIBLY grumpy when I was growing up. (Yes, this will be relevant later as well). I always had to be outside during daylight hours, even if it was rainy - I blame my current TV addiction on my childhood deprivation of TV...but I'm also obsessed with being outdoors as well..soo...enough sidetracking. *ahem*
Anyway, I never learned to do "inside" chores with my Mother. I think it was due to both of us - I hated being around grumpiness and she couldn't take a child being inside on a perfectly good day! So I mowed lawns, helped my Dad with cutting firewood, pouring concrete, pruned trees, trimmed bushes, changed oil, tires, I even dug a VERY long ditch one summer. For Mother's Day I took the back and front door off their hinges and sanded them down and repainted them.
My point is: How the heck was I supposed to know how to clean inside the house? This comes into play...soon.
So since my folks were so very grumpy in my younger years, my theory is, they're now in their reflective years and now are incredibly giving and courteous. So when I need to remove a massive dining room table at the last minute who do I call? Good 'ol Ma and Pa. Plus, I think they do more stuff for me because they feel bad that I'm not married. I don't feel bad.
Anyway, my father uses the bathroom and jokingly tells me that I need to clean my toilet. Whatever, I just cleaned it! I have this expensive bottle of clorox bleach spray AND clorox bleach toilet bowl cleaner. I know for a FACT that it's clean. But he insists it's not. He takes me to my bathroom...and this is when I realize: I have NEVER picked up my toilet seat for the whole year I lived here. Why would I? I'm a surface cleaner. I clean what I see. It NEVER crossed my mind to lift the seat. I never use the space under there.
So we lift it up and....I'm traumatized. It's horrible. I get a pit in my stomach. I'm repulsed. Literally repulsed with myself. How could I not know that this horrible bacterial party exsisted right under my nose? Or bootie? I'm so grossed out. I can't stop yelling "Gross! Holy sh*t! That's SOOOO disgusting! Why didn't anyone tell me? GROSS!!!!!" My Mom swiftly takes action and starts cleaning it. In the back of my head I'm thinking "I need my Mom to teach me how to properly clean a toilet bowl" but it's sparkling clean before my subconcious thought can catch up with my mouth.
My Dad asks me "What kind of guys use your bathroom? They must go to strip clubs a lot if they don't tell you about your toilet. That must seem normal to them..." I immediately call my buddy Alan. He relays to me that he forgot to tell me to "clean my pot" last time.
Right now I feel like I need to scrub my brain from the mental image of what I saw. I immediately start thinking of what other guys I need to call and apologize for my toilet seat. Is this how people feel when they learn they contracted an STD? They need to think of all men they've been with and call them? I feel their pain...on some level. But I digress....
I took an ice bath after Trey left, before I discovered the shit demon that was hiding under my toilet seat (I love the move Dogma btw). After my toilet discovery, and my folks leave, I take another bath. My best friend Diane comes over and makes me feel better...between laughter.
Diane reminds me that I've always lived in situations where others would clean the toilet. Home, the dorms, Barry Butt Chunk, The Schmucks...after Diane leaves I take another bath. I feel like I need to scrub my skin and make it anew. Three baths in one day. And do I still feel gross? Why yes I do.
When I called Todd to apologize for my toilet seat (which he never used) his lovely wife Christina explained that I should ALWAYS check the toilets of any guy that I date because of that reason. Who has checked out my toilet? I can finally tell my parents why I'm single: it's because you always sent me outside. While I have grown addicted to outdoor activities I have become domestically challenged under your care. Is this part of their guilt? Have they known this all along? Is this why my Mother so swiftly cleaned my toilet today? Is she accepting blame on some level?
As I took my third bath of the day, drinking my umpteenth glass of wine, I thought of all the other things about being domesticated that I didn't know. I remember when I was 20 and Jazzinator (college boyfriend) teaching me how to properly do laundry. Yes, I had it TOTALLY wrong and no I won't go into details. I still don't really know how to cook. The scar in my left hand could attest to that fact.
But, I did pop quite a few tires while exploring the hills in college. Knowing how to change tires...and learning how to fill up my holey radiator (from all those huge forest service road rocks) with creek water, got me home safely more than once. And Barry Butt Chunk always made sure I came home to a clean toilet. Take that "Domestication". Now I just need to find a new male to clean the house while I mow the lawn. Wish me luck.
Oh....and if you are a male, and have used my toilet from 2/2007 thru 2/2008 please contact me at worshipkrista@hotmail.com and I will provide a genuine and thorough apology.
