Our bathroom floor nears completion! Huzzah! The Husband is laying the final tiles... while I play with MS Paint and the Internet. (Crosses arms defensively) Well, I have to repaint the walls later because SOMEbody decided that they didn't like our "Malibu Coast" paint color! So it's fair.
As I mentioned in the previous post, working on the bathroom floor reminded me of an unfortunate experience upon another bathroom floor, far away and long ago. For those of you who are weirded out right now, I assure you that this is not some creeptastic scatological over-share. It is a perfectly legitimate and non-nausea-inducing story from my childhood. And those are in limited supply, so you just better enjoy it.
By "long ago," I mean to say about twelve years ago. I was entering my super-gawky tween years, when I began to evolve from a stringbean hopscotch champ to an awkward amalgamation of limbs, which had completely forgotten how to work together to accomplish complicated tasks like walking. At 5'7 by age twelve, I didn't stick out like a sore thumb. I stuck out like a sore middle finger.
Anyhow, while I was busy learning how to acclimate to my new status as a tweenaged scrub pine, my baby sister Julianne was tottering around at age two or so. I affectionately called her "Peanut," because she was like an adorable little nutshell-full of cuteness (and also, she looked like a Peanuts character whenever she threw her head back and cried).
One evening, Julianne had just taken her bath, and our mother had just helped her into her little pink pajamas. The bathwater had not even drained yet, as Julianne stood in the bathroom, brushing her teeth and chortling to herself, like toddlers tend to do.
Meanwhile, I was in my room, reading a book, when it occurred to me that my tweenaged bladder was quite full. I hopped up from my bed and hurried down the hall to the bathroom that I shared with my sisters. The closed door and the giggles from inside the bathroom did not bode well for my situation.
My brothers' bathroom was occupied, and I didn't think I could manage running down the stairs to the guest bathroom. I waited and waited, thinking, "Surely Julianne's teeth must be clean by now. She doesn't even have that many of them!" As the seconds ticked on, I realized that she was a toddler, with no concept of time, and she would continue brushing her teeth for as long as it amused her.
I really didn't mean to be a crazy person. But I needed the bathroom. I crossed my legs. I crossed them harder. Nature was calling in a very forceful manner. After a few more seconds, I passed the critical threshold between sisterly consideration and animal instinct.
However, in my desperate action of bursting through the door, I unfortunately failed to anticipate a vital flaw in my plan. Julianne, like the majority of bath-takers, had dripped water on the tile floor. My frantic and uncoordinated feet found one of the puddles on the floor in very short order. Then, one of them managed to collide with my shocked baby sister.
My poor little sister was flung back into the still-mostly-full bathtub. It was like a bizarre converse of that old axiom about "throwing the baby out with the bathwater."
My mother and my other sister Jenna rushed to the scene. They occupied themselves with extricating the howling Julianne from the bathtub, while I lay crumpled on the floor. It was rather epic in its scope of shame.
I don't even remember what happened after that. Not because I had a head injury or anything. I think my fragile tween self-image just convinced my memory to block it out. Until this bathroom tiling project brought it rushing back, that is -- rushing like a gangly twelve-year old who drank too much water.
EDIT: Just wanted to note that both Julianne and I were absolutely fine. Save for a set of adorable pajamas that had to be laundered, no injury or damage resulted from this unfortunate incident.