Saturday, June 21, 2008

Niggling Guilt

Today the goddess speaks about herself:

There's been a tiny, little sprout of a hint of a possible guilty feeling after my last blog. I'm just going to come right out and blurt the truth that I fudged on earlier,  MY BATHROOMS ARE NOT SHINY AND SWEET SMELLING!  

Phew, it's out!.  I never would have come clean (so to speak) had I not been caught in my little white lie; caught on the very day I told it.
Although I really hate to say that it is lying. I am a reader who writes; it is creative license, an embellishment as it were.

You see, Olguita came over yesterday for a visit, and to poke me with her needles. But, wait. Before I go on let me set up a little back story.
I am the only female in a house of men -- tall, lanky, good looking men, uniquely superior in nearly every way. As a goddess, I feel that I have trained them well in the ways of women:  listen, never offer un-solicited solutions to problems, open doors, carry heavy bags, push the cart, bring coffee without being asked, and shake an excellent martini. Bathroom etiquette was, of course, extensively covered. You know, wipe out the sink after shaving, no snotting in the shower, light a match AND put the toilet seat down.  

Now, my big, handsome men have always complied with most of my wishes, but I guess everyone must have their little rebellion. My men have chosen the toilet seat as theirs. Before lasik surgery this was hazardous for me, especially when I tottered to the the potty in the wee hours. More often than not I fell into the toilet. This did not make for a happy goddess. "Pick your battles", my mother said. I could never do this. In the early days, I went to battle over everything. These future men, and not completely raised husband (God and I know, Carole, you tried) were under my wing. I couldn't let them go out into the world and embarrass me, I mean themselves. Plus, there is the matter of me being a warrior goddess. However, my mother was correct. Had I learned a little earlier to allow some minor treachery, say for instance in the no dirty dishes in your room rule, something that was more of a minor inconvenience to me personally -- perhaps, now I would be enjoying a properly placed seat at all times.  

At this point it is also fair, and important to the story to mention the hairiness, and tallness of the men in my house. Both my husband and I have very hairy fathers; mine was something of a gorilla. The boys have no chance of not being heavy shedders of body hair. They are also very tall. The farther away one is from the actual toilet bowl, the harder it is to not miss hitting the rim (and, from time to time the floor).  These factors add up to an un-shiny toilet rim. Now, I would think this would be embarrassing for anyone to just walk away from, allowing the next person to come along and see. Evidently when your eyes are closer to the ceiling than not, it is also hard to see the toilet. Walk away they do.

This brings us up to Olguita's impromptu, needle poking visit. We had retired to the goddess sanctuary (my bedroom), a place few are allowed to enter (usually because the goddess's lover does not have proper hamper-usage skills [ God and I know, Carole, you tried]). It has taken twenty plus years, and almost as many birthday wishes, but now he's got it!!! Except for the perpetually unmade bed, and that never bothers me, my room is now a place I do not mind inviting very close, right-brain oriented friends with a propensity for buying a lot of clothes, shoes and art. So, there we were comfortably chatting while my chi was getting a jump start. We quite enjoyed ourselves. All too soon it was time for Olguita to go to work (where people pay her to poke them). It was at this time she required a trip, to the adjoining room, to dispose of the detritus of needle-poking (not the needles, of course, those she took with her to put in her little red sharps bucket -- she's a safety girl).  I was not minding this as I believed my own white lie about the shiny, sweet smellingness of my bathrooms. I was still not minding just after Olguita had hugged me good-bye, and driven off in Red Bull, her little, red and white Mini-Cooper. 

All seemed so right with my world. I was experiencing my usual after acupuncture euphoria as I climbed the stairs to gaze at myself in the big mirrors of the upstairs bathroom. My euphoria was short lived because as soon as I encountered the toilet my temper bubbled up, "Shit!" (nasty word, and not literal in this case). The toilet seat was up, and the rim was displayed in all of its spotty, hairy yuckiness! 

Liar, liar, pants on fire. So, instead of doctoring my previous blog, to be more accurate, I decided to write this one. I hope I can be forgiven.

May peace and short, hairless children be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.

1 comment:

~Sister3 said...

~does this mean I have to admit to
the fact my Fancy Foyer looks
like a pen for Dog-pigs?