Bathrooms, that's a dirty word at boy house. Today in a fit of pre-decorating cleaning I ventured into the boy bathroom, gasp! What was I thinking? Amnesia? Temporary insanity brought on by a wicked combination of leftover turkey and pecan pie.
Not to worry I closed my eyes, held my breath stuffed my fingers in my ears and sang a hymn. I muscled my way past the moldering towels , the month ago football gear, the muddy shoes and pants probably Turkey Bowl relics.
I've had years of experience overcoming the post traumatic stress of a fool hardy peek into boy bathroom. The flashbacks, voices, desolation, carnage, and guilt are hard to withstand. Harder to handle still are the wild desires brought on by such a scene; I crave the smell of bleach, I tremble as I think of ammonia scented with lemon, my hands aches to attack armed only with rubber gloves, chemicals and Brillo pads.
No, I'm a women of morals and principals I will be strong. They know how to clean a bathroom I taught them well. I won't clean it for them, I won't, I wo... might, but I'll hold back a stocking stuffer I will.
3 comments:
You are hilarious! Such a good writer, ever thought of writing a book in your SPARE time? :)
So funny! Oh, how I can relate!
Mrs. Nurse Boy
I went into the kids' bathroom this morning and found a puddle of pee on the floor. Did we get a dog and I not know it??? "Now, who peed on the floor and didn't tell mommy." The sentences you here in this house - ohh, my, my.
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