Ever since our little flood event here (which occurred toward the end of September) we have been down to one bathroom. The other bathroom – the downstairs bathroom – is disembodied, as is the rest of my whole lower level. There is more to talk about here, but I don’t want to start such a lovely Tuesday morning discussing the insurance company’s actions which will undoubtedly only result in much cussing and perhaps some foaming at the mouth (but the insurance company should note right here and now that I do have flying monkeys…).
At any rate, two girls and one bathroom make the mornings at my house interesting. In the beginning it was really tough navigating around each other, but after more than seven weeks the number of daily elbow injuries have dropped off dramatically. We have just about solved all our space sharing issues (not that I wouldn’t kill one reticent insurance agent if need be to reclaim my other bathroom – but hey…I am not bitter).
Just one problem remains really…Cheyenne’s teeth brushing ritual – both the timing of it and the event itself. As for the timing, it seems to almost always coincide with a time when I am rushed and need mirror time in the bathroom. I typically have makeup laid out all over and my coffee sitting on the counter – there really is no room for any other activities when I am at that point in my daily regimen.
But the issue with the timing pales in comparison to the issue with the event itself. You see, to Cheyenne, brushing her teeth is a full contact sport filled with vigor, endurance and sometimes conversation (or a guffaw or two). I never really realized how big it was as an event until we started sharing the same space so closely. I used to be naive…yeah…that was before I took in the full wonderment of the toothpaste and saliva disbursement that occurs while she is vigorously brushing and laughing and talking.
There is so much splatter evidence that I bet I could bring in a crime scene investigator to analyze the splatter patterns (as if blood splatter patterns are the only telling evidence these folks have practice with – surely there si a call for toothpaste splatter analysis as well). I bet the investigator could map out every laugh, every turn of the head, every bend into the mirror to get a better look at a molar – this is science after all.
The bathroom mirror and everything in the vicinity of the teeth-brushing event is subject to splatter; and, I am not talking about a fine spray that is not visible to the naked eye…oh no. I am talking substantive splatter that would burn your eye if it got in it. I am taking small globs – seriously…substantive splatter.
I feel like I need a splatter shield to be in the darn room with her – something like the dentist wears before they go in to your mouth to do some serious work (the 10 years of candy for breakfast, lunch and dinner, no flossing, no dentist visits – kind of work). Or perhaps I should look into a hazmat suit that has oxygen piped in…I did mention this is an endurance event on her part right? She makes sure every single tooth gets its due alright – I would pass out in my hazmat suit if I didn’t have oxygen piped in. I wonder… do you think the hazmat hood would mess up my hair?
Thankfully, I do have a learning curve. I realized about two weeks in when I saw splatter land in my coffee cup that some adjustments needed to be made to minimize the fallout from the morning teeth-brushing event. Now I try avoid the area entirely during the event – I call this my “out-of-sight, out-of-mind” approach. If I can’t do that I remove my coffee, put away any items that can’t withstand the splatter, make sure I am not wearing dark clothes that may retain any untoward splatter and move as far away from my marathon brusher as possible. Also – and this is a big also - I have to remember to not start up a conversation with her or to make her laugh – the talking is bad, but the laughing is deadly.
That insurance company better get its act together soon…otherwise I am going to add a hazmat suit to my claim form under the additional costs incurred column. And they dare not refuse to cover that cost; else, I’ll have my flying monkeys deliver them to my bathroom for the teeth-brushing event and lock them in the room with no splatter shield and tell Cheyenne jokes from outside the door…don’t trifle with the battle-scarred MetLife- I have a splatterer and I know how to use her.
Day four hundred and ninety-eight of the new forty – obla di obla da
I am still waiting for this situation to be remed