It was one of those mornings…
The kind that make you want to throw everything out window and just walk away- preferably onto a sunny beach with cabana boys and umbrella drinks.
It started with the shower. I live in a charming old apartment building from the 20’s. It has character. It has quirks. I’ve learned to live with this so I know if I want a shower in the morning I need to do it before anyone else is up. So at some hour before dawn when it is too early to cope with anything- I arose and headed to the bathroom.
Now lately, the doo hickey that diverts the water from the faucet to the shower head hasn’t really been doing it’s job. Water comes out the shower head but some still runs out the faucet too. This morning was no exception. So once I achieved what I thought was an acceptable water temperature I flipped up the diverter and stepped in. The water was a tad hotter than desirable and I turned up the cold. The water became hotter. I turned up the cold. Cold water is now pouring out of the faucet onto my feet but the water cascading over my tender body parts from the shower is blistering hot. I hit the diverter because really, my skin was in danger of peeling off. I tried again- cold feet HOT TAMALE!!!! It finally sunk in that it was not a good idea to stand under the shower. I gave up and took a bath in what was now tepid water because, of course, I had used all the hot up.
What this really means, is that I have to call my landlord. Now I don’t dislike my landlord- for one thing he was willing to rent to me in spite of the fact that I don’t really have verifiable income. It’s just that he has this relaxed stick-a-bandaid-on-it kinda attitude about fixing things. When I do call him, he almost always says, “Well… you know it’s an old building” and then if it isn’t a fire hazard, an actual leaky pipe, or a cave in (yes, really, upstairs about a year ago) he can just pretend there really isn’t anything wrong. I’ve been asking him to fix my windows so I can open more than one of them since I moved in 4 years ago. So I’m guessing that my shower head is now a purely decorative object.
Then because it’s impossible for just one thing to go wrong-I lost my watch. I don’t wear it on the weekends but I always put it in the same place. Only I moved everything to wash the tablecloth and it wasn’t where I expected it to be when I went to put it on this morning. I checked the bedside table. I checked the top of the buffet where I leave my son’s mail. I checked the table next to the sofa. I looked under all the papers and books and knitting. I looked in my purse. I looked in the kitchen amongst the dirty dishes. I looked under the blow dryer in the bathroom.
I was forced to conclude that it had somehow been swept into the trash when I was cleaning the table. I picked out the garbage bit by bit. I went thru the onion peels, coffee grounds, junk mail, and did I mention that I cleaned out my refridgerator on Monday? Rotten vegitables.
Maybe if I had done this before I scalded myself in the shower I’d feel like it was worth it. Since all the creepy kitchen trash slime would have been boiled cleaned off.
The watch wasn’t there anyway. It was under my purse.