Wednesday, July 7, 2010
I hate the downstairs bathroom. A while back my Beloved organised for a young building apprentice to "do it up". I would say it was more "botched" up. But I digress. The only time I go into that room is to clean it. With three boys in the house...I'll leave you to use your imagination. There are numerous reasons I hate that bathroom and tonight's experience is one of them.
The stupid armpit is getting ridiculous and I thought a relaxing bath might ease things up a little. I really should have taken into account that Z had popped home and had a shower in there just before I turned the tap on. I managed about 4 inches of warm water but decided that would do the trick. The fun part came when I tried to leave the room of doom. The stupid door knob came off in my hand!
I'm clinically claustrophobic.
I take medication for it.
How much does my son love me? Evidently, not as much as he loves his DSL.
A: "Help! I'm trapped in the bathroom!"
M: "I can't pause right now, you'll have to wait."
A: "But I can't wait, I'm claustrophobic!"
M: "You'll have to wait. I can't come!"
A: "HEEEEEEELLLLLLP MEEEEEE!!!"
At this point my youngest daughter, C, kicked the door in. She is my hero. She is also going to become heiress to M's share of inheritance when the time eventually comes for me to take a dirt nap.