Recently, I was given the Holy Grail of invitations: I was asked to go to the beach with my boyfriend and his parents.
Now, I have met his wonderful parents on many occasions, and we get along splendidly. However, going on vacation with them presents a whole new challenge: be terrifically charming and delightful at all hours of the day and night, all while wearing a tasteful swimsuit and trying to get a tan.
As the trip grew closer, I got slightly nervous; a well-known spaz, I tend to have horribly embarrassing moments and make myself look foolish at ridiculously inopportune times. In an entire four days, I was bound to have one such moment. The possibilities constantly ran through my mind like frantic yapping dogs, and the question soon became this: what will be my undoing on this trip??
Like a ticking time bomb, all I can say is I was true to form.
After coming in from the beach one afternoon, I blissfully and gracefully pranced into the bathroom, happy from the day of sun and ready to get cleaned up. We had been boogie boarding, and my bathing suit was uncomfortably full of sand. So I ran some water in the sink, plopped the sandy suit in to soak, and hopped in the shower. After concluding my time in the refreshingly clean water, I turned off the water feeling like a new person.
But….what was that sound? I had turned off the shower but could still hear water running. Confused, I poked my head out from behind the curtain to find that I had FORGOTTEN to turn off the sink, which had subsequently overflowed and was causing a deluge of rampant water.
Like a panicked gazelle, I leapt out of the shower and pressed the faucet off. My limbs flailing, I grabbed every towel in sight and attempted to slosh the water back into the (now unplugged) sink to drain. In despair, I dried off every nick knack and tacky beach trinket (HOW many do you need in one bathroom, people?!) as quickly as I could.
At this point, I’d become painfully aware of how long I had been in the bathroom. I’d stupidly enjoyed a long, luxurious shower and was now under pressure to clean up this watery mess in approximately 2.4 minutes before I began to run the risk of being:
- The slow-to-get-ready diva girlfriend
- The reason everyone else is held up for dinner and consequently hangry and cross OR
- Discovered in my overflowing mess flailing about and be forced to fess up about my dumb blonde mistake
Obviously NONE of these options were looking good to me. So I was left with attempting to clean up the remainder of the tsunami even MORE rapidly than I had been already. Growing increasingly tense, I sopped up the rest of the counter water with the (very nice, mind you) guest towels, hung them up to dry, breathed a sigh of relief and stepped back to admire my handiwork. Sure, the novelty tissue box was waterlogged and sagging, but you really couldn’t tell without investigating closely. All-in-all it’s looking good…looking good….
And THEN my eyes stopped on the most terrible travesty I had seen yet; a SLIGHTLY open drawer which was temporarily housing my hair dryer and curling iron. Horrified, I flung the drawer open to find it completely and (almost) comically full of water, my hair utensils bobbing and floating like small boats.
I stared at it for what felt like 5 minutes. How the hell was I supposed to get any ENTIRE drawer’s full of water OUT of this drawer and into the sink?!
My sense of panic returning, I tried to take the drawer out of its little drawer-hole. Naturally, it was feeling stubborn and would NOT allow itself to be removed. Dammit!! I sprinted/stumbled awkwardly across the hall to my bedroom, grabbed my water glass, and began bailing the drawer out, old sailor style. The seconds are ticking painfully by. I’m falling deeper and deeper into a pit of despair and worse, I am beginning to wonder if the drawer is made out of that pressed wood that swells up like a portobello mushroom when it gets wet. Finally, not being able to stand it ANY longer, I yank the drawer off its hinges, dump the remaining contents into the sink, and use the FINAL remaining towel (which had been wrapped around me throughout these proceedings) to dry the inside of the drawer.
I stood, naked and embarrassed, looking at a bathroom that (after 15 minutes of desperate work) looked exactly the way it had before. Which therefore left everyone in the house to assume whatever they would like about why I was in the bathroom for 30 minutes and emerged sweaty with hair still wet.