A brand-new bottle of shampoo empties itself in Annie's luggage. Peril, pandemonium, and pretty darn funny.
Day one. Finally, we've both moved in, more or less, and we're here to stay. Ah, but who is this "we"?? Well, first of all there is me- your trusty blogger extraordinaire, along with housemate Annie, and a stir-crazed boxer-pitt mix named Karma, who I'm fairly certain thinks she is a 20-pound purse dog who wants nothing more than belly rubs while she lounges, sprawled on a suede chaise lounger.
Our house is a historic 1930's charmer, the kind that was gutted 20 years ago and converted into student housing. We are in one of four houses within a house. We have our own front door, our own storage unit, and our very own pile of dog vomit, left behind on the front stoop. The ceilings are high, the doorways are arched, and there are cabinets installed whose bottoms are eight feet above the floor. Even standing on the kitchen counter tops, it is impossible for us to reach the top shelves- they are destined to remain empty, save for the dust that penetrates the off-center, squeaky wooden cabinet door.
All houses have their quirks, destined to be dubbed as "charm" as the building ages, and the most charming aspect in this house is the flooring. Solid wood, aged and polished to a golden hue, the floors are beautiful. The kitchen as tile that could be hard linoleum, or soft ceramic. The bathroom is similar to the kitchen. Nonetheless- the best part of our floors is this: they are all tilted. It's as if you walked into one of those fun-houses at a fair or haunted house and the walls and floor slant to throw you off course. My bedroom, for instance, tilts towards the middle of the house, which sends my rolling office chair eerily creeping backward at completely random moments in time. The living room is fairly solid, or so it seems. The bathroom tilts toward the tub, and makes rivers of water that pool in to lakes and puddles whenever the steam condenses.
This effect also happens when your roommate has a bottle of shampoo explode in her suitcase and you jump in like a superhero to start rinsing the soap out of her clothes before the situation can get worse. Shell-shocked (bubble-shocked?) housemates are not happy housemates. In the course of rinsing jeans and tops and sweaters I also was rinsing an entire brand-spanking new bottle of Dove shampoo into the tub. Our house is small, our tub is even smaller. I was wading in bubbles up to my knees. It was hilarious, for me at any rate. (If you ever have the time and money to spare, it's worth seeing. Shampoo bubbles are a lot more fun to play around in then bubble bath bubbles- but I'd skip the clothes and luggage part.) Annie was grateful for the help, and Karma was just glad not to be the one covered in bubbles.
And now, with mostly soap-free clothes flapping in the breeze as they dry over the porch railing, or dripping lazily over the shower curtain rod into the tub, where tiny soap bubbles are still circling the drain, I close of my first post. For Day One it hasn't been too bad. No fire, no plague of locusts- I am content. So good-night. Annie is buying pizza, and I, for one, am hungry.
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