Life is full of mysteries.
I don’t mean all that existentialist life stuff, like why are we here and what’s the point of the Kardashians? That is way above my good-enough-for-a-liberal-arts-degree-IQ. I’m talking about my *house* life mysteries like…
*Why are there TWO empty soap dishes in the kids’ bathroom shower stall and yet the soap bar is always on the bottom of the tub?
*Also what’s the deal with all those teeny, white flecks that are only found in their bathroom? What are they? Is someone shredding toilet paper into nearly microscopic pieces?
*How come, other than me, no one in this house, regardless of age, puts things away? For a week, there’s been the discarded paper backside of kinesiotape on the very full bathroom counter. The kids just keep working around it, going about their primping. It’s totally in the way! How does it not bug them?
I know where it comes from, though.
Sigh.
Ten days ago, as he was taking down Christmas lights, my husband had a run in — well, fall in, actually — with a barrel cactus. It stabbed the back of his ankle. It was bad, really, really bad. Doctors had to amputate. Nooooo! JK! But he sure acted like it would come to that. It hurt a lot and he limped and thought there was a needle stuck in there somewhere but none of us could see anything, and so he thought it might be below the surface and read somewhere online that you should soak the affected area in Epsom salt and so guess what has been sitting on the kitchen counter since Jan. 5? Yup. I kept waiting to see if he’d take care of it. I finally gave up and put it away, which means he’ll probably ask for it tomorrow.
*Why do I keep finding rubber bands all over the house? Can dogs do more without opposable thumbs than we thought?
*Why does my son insist on keeping a basketball in his hamper?
*How come I don’t look ever look as good in any other mirror in the world as I do in MY bathroom mirror?
BUT I did solve ONE big mystery!
So, our walls are chronically dirty. Should I admit that out loud? Well, they are and it’s weird and so I’m constantly* wiping them down and I get why around the light switches they’d be nasty because of grubby, unclean hands belonging to teenagers but these darkish smears are about upper-thigh high.
So, the other morning, we’re getting the dogs ready for their walk and buckling everyone into leashes and harnesses and Dumb Dog No. 2 gets the Canine Come-Along snapped around her snout (so she won’t pull) and she promptly wipes her face against the edge of the wall. Later that day, she rubbed her entire, fat body across the length of the hallway. I know I don’t need to mention that she is the one who regularly flops in the yard, giving herself dirt baths. That answers that.
*OK, I only sometimes wipe them down, like when it really bugs me.
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