Bathrooms, wall to wall carpet and other mysteries of the universe

The universe has many mysteries.

One such mystery is why…oh why, did people ever decide wall to wall carpeting in the bathroom was a good idea?

bathroom-carpet

I suppose this mystery isn’t completely unsolved to the masses of the world. You may be one of those individuals who put carpet in your bathroom. WHY???

I am bringing up this topic today because I am one of those people who own (I guess I should say rent? but that sounds strange!) a bathroom in which the entire floor is blanketed in carpet. I should note that I DID NOT put the carpet there. I’m pretty sure it’s been there for nearly 50 years. (Along with all the appliances in the house! The house is like a well preserved view of life and interior designing in the 1960s.) At one point I think the carpet was pink, matching the tiles on the wall and shower; slowly it has faded into a dull, liver and pink colored monstrosity.

You ask: Autumn, why not just rip the carpet out and tile the floor? Stop fussing!

My answer: I rent.

The people I rent from are ever so nice! They are literally the nicest of the nice. But they like the carpet in there. I cannot bring myself to ask why. It might change my opinion of them. I’M KIDDING! They like it because tiles are cold and hard and carpet is a softer, warmer option. All I can think is: True…but what if the toilet over flows? What if you spill your hair gel on it? And again…what if the toilet over flows???

Another reason I am bringing up this topic today is because over the weekend an incident occurred involving the said carpet.

It all started on Friday.

As I was getting ready to head out to work, I run into my bathroom and do a final “did I unplug the curling iron & straightener check.”

Whoops! I didn’t! Glad I checked. The cords are ripped from the wall and I am whirling around to turn off the light and leave.

But then…

Huh? Is it just me, or does it look like a section of the carpet is extra dark– more liver colored than the rest?

Perhaps it is just the lighting. I inch closer. Strange. Then I remember the time. Got to go! I will investigate later.

Later…

I return from work, walk into the bathroom and jump back.

Yeah…that’s not discoloration. Or the lighting.

It’s Lake Eyrie.

A sopping, puddle of what I imagine probably emerged from the toilet has taken over more than half of the bathroom.

The only thing one can do in this situation is scream in horror.

Toilet water. It may be clean looking, but we all know the word clean should never be used to describe toilet water. Oh! And how the carpet loves it. It is drinking it right up.

I have no idea how the water has escaped its ceramic prison, as no one used the toilet at all that day, but the fact of the matter is… it has.

I am an adult. And being an adult means you have to do things you don’t want to do. You have to pay for things you don’t want to pay for. I had to clean this mess up. After soaking up the water the best I could and pouring sterilization cleaners on the carpet I realized…how can it ever possibly get truly clean? Carpet has so many nooks and crannies, twists and turns.

Light bulb!

I could burn it. I could burn the blasted carpet and be rid of it FOREVER and the bathroom would be clean once again.

It is too bad burning it was out of the question. But I think I just might have the winning argument for ripping the carpet out and tiling. Cross your fingers!

I’ll end my story now, and put it in that lovely storage room of case files filled with the mysteries of the universe. With a big permanent marker I’ll write across the top, “This file contains information to solving the mystery as to why people carpet their bathrooms wall to wall…and evidence on how this practice SHOULD BE ILLEGAL!” Lengthy, but necessary.

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Bowl Cut

I always love hearing the stories from my parent’s childhood. You know those stories they share around the Thanksgiving table or their relatives share for them (when that happens it’s like looking at your parents for the first time…who is this person that has been raising me!!???).  Those stories are the kind that never get old, no matter how many times they are shared. They become an important part of Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner, and if they weren’t told it would be like having Thanksgiving meal without having any turkey.

This is a funny story I just love that my Mom tells every year.

Growing up my Mom lived in a run-down neighborhood in the mid-west which, when I was little, sounded like it was filled with endless adventure. Now that I am older, and have been given the “grand tour” it actually was a scary place to live. Random mobile homes are burned throughout the neighborhood and for the longest time there was no police force whatsoever. Any way, back to my story. My Mom came from a huge family (she had 9 brothers and sisters!). My Mom was second to youngest with the sister she was closest to, Candy, coming in last just a year younger than my Mom.


“Pat!!!!” Patricia jerked her head up at the sound of her Mother’s stratchy voice coming from somewhere inside their small house. The house was painted the exact same color of her Grandmother’s coffee after she had added what her Grandpa referred to as “an ungodly” amount of cream. There were tall green weeds surrounding the edges of the house, and paint the was peeling off the sides. Patricia froze, her fingers still deep in the mudd she had been using to mold into a cake. She was a good 200 feet away from the house, the wind was blowing, the neighbor was mowing the lawn and yet her Mothers voice managed to carry out practically drowning out all the other noises. “Pat!!!Get inside now!” She bellowed.

Pat, they all called her Pat for some reason. It was a family thing, no one was called by their actual name. Barbara was Barb. Jonathan was Johnny. Patricia was Pat. She hated being called Pat. Wasn’t it a boy’s name? Her Mother called again, but Pat remained still. She couldn’t make her feet go to the house, not yet. She knew what was coming and if she could hold off the inevitable for at least a few more minutes, she would. She wiped the mud off of on of her hands onto her jeans and then touched her dark brown hair.

“PPPPAAATTTTRRIIIICCCCIIIIAAAAA! Patricia Denise Borets, you get in here NOW!”

Pat felt her hair once again and there it was! The bubblegum. Who knew that gum could become a permanent fixture in your hair? She and her sister, Candy (sort for Cassandra) had just been having fun trying to blow the biggest bubbles in the world. Pat wasn’t even sure how the gum ended up in her hair and in her sister’s hair…but there it was, creating a giant tangle.

Pat turned away from the house, devoting her full attention back to her mud pie. A few minutes passed of silence. Maybe her Mom gave up after all. Pat knew that wasn’t true. She would be sending out a “messenger” (aka one of the other kids) to go and retrieve Pat at any moment.

“Pat,” came a quiet, almost feeble voice. The voice of someone who had just endured something awful. It was the messenger.

Pat turned around and stared at Candy. Her nine year old sister’s once long, golden locks were no where to be found. Pat gasped. Her hair was cut like a gross boy’s hair.

“Mama says you better come inside, it’s your turn,” Candy said quietly. Her eyes were puffy and swollen from crying.

*

When Pat got inside her Mother had her sit in a chair by the kitchen sink. She was muttering how she didn’t want to do this, but she had- had it! The girls were too rambunctious and their hair was constantly tangled and the gum was too high up to do anything other than cut it very short. She grabbed a bowl that was normally used to eat corn flakes out of and shoved it onto Pat’s head. She took her scissors and, using the bowl as a stencil, cut Pat’s hair off.

*

A few days later, Pat and Candy sat in the front row at the little Baptist Church down the road. Their Mother and Dad sat several rows behind them, melting into the congregation. For little kids something about being “in the front” that makes you feel utterly important. Like you are number one. It doesn’t matter if it is the front pew of church, the front of a line, the front of a roller coaster seat, the front of the car-sitting in the front is a symbol that you have arrived.

The pastor was known for his abilities to put even the most hyper and caffeine filled people to sleep. His voice was like the ocean, rolling back and forth, slowly creating a melody. For Pat and Candy, a single sermon felt like a life time. Since they were in the front row, away from their parents, they decided to occupy themselves with poking each other and giggling at the people falling asleep in the choir chairs.

Their giggles became louder and louder with each poke and point. Suddenly, Mr. Strombly, a member in the choir started to head nod. His eyes looked like they had weights on them, pulling them down and down. Then Miss Tilda’s head went backwards and her mouth hung open. Pat and Candy laughed and then Candy imitated Miss Tilda dramatically, making Pat laugh so loudly several people around them woke up. The room began to stir.

The pastor paused and stared stone faced at the girls.

Suddenly, he seemed like a different person, with emotions and feelings.  He said angrily, “If those two BOYS in the front row don’t stop goofing off I will have a word with your parents, young men.”

Pat and Candy looked around for the boys he was speaking of. There was no one else sitting in either front row. Suddenly they realized the pastor’s blazing eyes were fixed on THEM.

BOYS???!!!! And what was this nonsense about having a word with their parents? Their parents were in the room already!!??

“Candy, he thinks we are boys!” Pat whispered with a horrified gasp. She said the word, “boy” like it was the most disgusting thing in the entire world.  She looked at Candy with her bowl-cut hair, pants and stripped shirt. She did kind of look like a boy…

Candy’s eyes grew wide and filled with a sheen a tears.

Pat grabbed Candy’s hand and using all of her courage approached the podium where the pastor had once again continued his oceanic melody. They walked up the couple steps and then were right next to the pastor on the stage.

“Excuse me, ex-cuse me!” Pat said tugging on his suit coat.

The pastor looked down, startled.

“Wh-at are you boys doing now? You are being very disruptive,” he said flustered but managed a small, fake smile. His eye twitched beneath his thick glasses.

“We, we just wanted to tell you that- ” Pat paused suddenly feeling nervous. There were a lot of people in here and all of them were awake and attentive. She had to make sure the pastor knew though. She had to tell him, at least for Candy’s sake. She swallowed and then said,”We wanted to tell you that WE ARE GIRLS…..NOT BOYS.” 


I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I have!!!!!!!

What is your worst child-hood hair cut? Any family stories you’d like to share?

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.

-Edmund Burke

Today I am thankful to be an American. Today I am remembering the terrible tragedy that happened 13 years ago to the date. Today I am remembering life is short. Today I am reminded to love my family and friends and to tell them. Today I am reminded to fight for and stand up for good.

God Bless America

new things: Photo Friday

I would like to start a new thing on my blog of randomness. A new thing called, “Photo Friday”, I will try and make sure it is done every Friday, however, I don’t have any access to the internet at my house and I work all day long on Fridays so Photo Friday may occur on another day of the week…but I will try my best to keep it on Friday!

Picture2

About Photo Friday:
My family is spread across the entire country. I live on the East Coast…my closest sister is 5 hours away and my farthest sister lives clear across the country in Washington.We have all been really close and try and call each other as much as we can but we still miss out on so much of each others lives. I started a little thing I called, “Pic of the day” between us, where each of us have to send a random picture to each other each day. It could be something you saw, something you are doing, something you think is funny, something that touched you…whatever! This has been so much fun! With that inspiration, I thought I would share a photo to my blog hopefully every week. A photo that made me laugh, raise an eyebrow, was stunning, thought provoking, random. and perhaps worth a thousand words.

With that, hopefully Photo Friday will be starting tomorrow….so stay tuned!

Question: The saying, “A picture is worth a thousand words”…agree or disagree?