The standing tub (I wouldn't call it a "clawfoot tub" as it has no claws) in my bathroom is so old now that the finish is letting me down, appearance-wise. Wednesday (not coincidentally, the day after I colored my hair) I poured a gallon of bleach into the !@#$%^ and started the hot water running while I tackled the groceries Sarah and I'd just bought (goodbye, $200.) I'd covered for a friend at work that morning and was due back for a meeting in the afternoon, so I was attempting- as always- to make the most efficient use of my available time. I've been a bit overwhelmed since arriving home from vacation and the days are just flying by, with a handful of tasks that need to be completed just plain not getting done while I sprint through my house like a chicken with no head. So: I manage to forget that the tub's running until it was too late. Upon realization, I hoof it into the bathroom, where there's an inch of extremely hot, bleachy water on the floor and more spilling over the sides of the !@#$%^& tub. I- reflexively- wade in, burning the bejesus out of my feet. But wait! Even as I register the sensation of my feet being incinerated and try to levitate up and out of the area, straining something in my back, I crank the tap off and STICK MY ARM INTO THE BOILING, BEACHED WATER in order to pull the plug. It was a veritable trifecta of stupidity. Floor's really clean in there now, though. Or was until today- when I couldn't help but observe, while contorting myself in order to install the new toilet seat I'd just purchased this morning (I had no idea what a crisis it is when ones toilet seat breaks down) that the floor is once again hairy and grimy and disgusting. How does this happen????
I was thrilled to finally leave and get to work (no toilets to repair here!) but still. Sheesh. As I was crouching by the potty, all dressed up for the afternoon shift, screwdriver in one hand, clock ticking away, I couldn't help but think, "Someone else has MY life... and I want it back."