Years of serving has wrecked my delicate, dainty wrists. I know we Midwestern girls are supposed to have thick, corn-fed wrists and ankles, but I never got those. Apparently, I was absent when they were passing those out.
My hands, too, are actually impervious to certain degrees of heat thanks to the hot plates which gave me topical nerve damage. Which is a great party trick, until it’s TOO hot, because then? I burn the bejesus out of my hands and that’s not full of awesome.
I have sissy wrists and sissy ankles and after years of lugging thousands of pounds of food and drinks around my wrists have sustained some injuries. So now and again, I bust out the wrist guards and mope about the house, cursing my former self and my genetics.
Tuesday, was one of those such days that I went a-courtin’ for my wrist guards, and having not needed them for years, I had no idea where they were. First stop, upstairs bathroom, which is rarely used.
Shocked by the sheer quantity of feminine hygiene products in one small place, I congratulated myself at having the foresight to stock up and BE PREPARED in case a whole troupe of women came through with their periods ALL AT THE SAME TIME.
I could have been on an episode of Hoarders. Except that I had no idea that I had anything like that under there. If only it had been something like DIAMONDS.
My shock quickly turned to dismay when I discovered that most of the stuff underneath the sink was…damp. And some of it was…mildewy. There’s nothing more disgusting than damp mildewy shit, except for damp mildewy shit that you put on your cooter, so I was suitably horrified.
I looked under the sink, saw that among the losses was my trusty ACE bandage, which had sadly succumbed to death by mold, and then realized that my sink; the U drain in my awful, ugly sink is leaking. Only, by sheer luck, when it’s being used.
So I did what any self-respecting hoarder of feminine hygiene products would do: I hid the evidence of my obsession. I gathered a garbage bag, threw away all of the maxi-pads and tampons, bleached the bottom of the sink, grabbed a bucket, threw it under the U-drain and realized that I’ll have to deal with it this weekend. Time for a new vanity.
Just as long as Daver doesn’t see that I have enough maxi-pads to fill a gigantic vagina, we’ll be all good.