7 June 2012
Cleaning the bathroom should be a simple task, oui? Non! Not if you're me, in which case most things seem not be an easy task because something always happens, a common thread in my life. And the lesson learnt from this installment is that I have come to the conclusion that showers are possessed by the Devil.
Mr Muscle and I have never had a good relationship. From the moment my cousin sprayed it in my two year old eyes we have had a turbulent friendship. And now I blame him for my mishap this morning. I was cleaning down the bathroom as one must every morning (well if you're in our house, I can't speak for the rest of the world) and it came to cleaning the shower. I made the mistake of undertaking this task fully clothed, apparently.
Well, obviously everything in a shower's slippery isn't it? So I'm spraying the walls with Mr Muscle (apple scented don't you know) and about to rinse it off. I step into the Cubicle of Doom and close the door so I don't soak the rest of the bathroom. I turn the shower on. I hold the showerhead and the bottle of Mr Muscle in my hand. I rinse the walls down. I sing a wee bit of Queen to lighten the mood.
When all of a sudden, the slippery showerhead falls from my grasp onto the floor of my shower, forming a sort of out of control lawn sprinkler system in my bathroom. I am forced into the corner of the cubicle. Yes, I have been held hostage by my own shower. And Mr Muscle is laughing at me from his front row seat beside the dastardly showerhead. Damn you, you bottle of chemicals with an absurdly toned man on the front! How, pray, shall I escape this situation? The answer is clear, I must grapple with my demon showerhead.
And so, I have been forced to dry my soggy self off by a radiator for the past hour, while the showerhead grins devilishly at me in my hand, as I sort of may have broke it off. Thanks, Mr Muscle, thanks.
The Screwball Adventures Of Delilah Episode #2 • Opuss № I