I am not an organizational person. There I said it, but to make matters worse, I am one of those people who say, ‘if my house was super organized I wouldn’t be able to find anything.’ Which brings me to my story. I was about to get into the shower…I know what you’re thinking, what does showering and organizational skill have in common? Everything!
I am about to get into the shower, but it always takes a few minutes for the freezing cold water to warm up, so I stand outside the tub with my arm stretched gingerly inside while the cold water runs off my quickly icing hand. The heat is now sufficient, so I step into the apparatus. I have to do some fancy foot work to avoid the chilly toys that are strewn all over the porcelain bottom. My left foot’s toe supports my body weight while I every so quickly pivot my body into the tub. I step down too soon and my right foot lands directly atop the soaking cold facecloth that who knows how long has been holding its ground there. It is okay though, because delightfully warm water now drains over me.
So here I am, lathering and scrubbing when my eye itches. Now I know this is completely cliché but it happened none the less. I rub it. Instantly my eye swells with a burning sensation, I scream some pretty outrageous swear words (hopefully the kids are not in ears reach) then whip around to let the water drain into my eye socket. Well apparently the kids were not in ears reach because I hear the main bathrooms toilet flush faintly in the distance and a second later I am accosted with scalding water being focussed unswervingly into my face.
I take a step back to try and remove myself from the catastrophe that is coming down upon me, but step on a Pony Pal…This is when it happens; between the soap that still flames with a vengeance in my eye, the torrid liquid that is pumping out at me with a devastating stronghold and tripping over that damn Pinky Pony I gyrate the wrong way and go tumbling out of the shower. Taking with me the double sided plastic curtain and the rod on which it hangs. The rod smashes me in the head once we all reach the tiled floor.
I am in shock. I do not move, or even stir. I lay naked, half wrapped in the residue infested drape with my head throbbing and the tears quickly on their way. Sophie waddles in and immediately begins to laugh at the scene, because quite frankly it would be absolutely hilarious if it hadn’t been me that it happened to. So I laugh right along with my daughter, get up and begin to put the rod back in its place. After I am done cleaning up the destruction, I pick up the 20 plus death-defying objects that lay in the bottom of the tub…I place them in the netted bag we bought for bathing toys years ago, and make a mental note that from now on we must, ‘USE THE BAG!’