(I’d like it noted for the record that the title of this post indicates the need for Another Necessary Series around here.)
Oh y’all.
Yeah, cleaning’s way funner with these. Not.
I make the mistake of spending yesterday afternoon cleaning the bathroom. Really cleaning it, abusing Magic Erasers with neither feelings of guilt nor thoughts of mercy. (Y‘all should see that Magic Eraser. It suffered, lemme tell you. Suffered.) I was wearing my purty pink plastic gloves and everything. (They’ve even got flowers. For reasons even the most aged and wise grandmothers can’t figure out, 3M thinks this will make scrubbing a tub on my hands and knees more effective and possibly even fun. Wrong again, dumb-Balaam’s-talkative-mode-of-transportation.)
What were we talking about?
Oh yeah…dirty bathrooms. So, being all gung-ho or stupid or whatever, and wanting to have a Pinterest-Worthy Tinkletorium, I made A Grievous Error: I opened the cupboard under my sink. You know, the Cave of Wonders where I stash…well, everything apparently…that I don’t want cluttering up my previously-mentioned Soon-to-be-Pinterest-Worthy-Tinkletorium. (Say “tinkletorium”…ain’t that fun? Just rolls off the tongue, don’t it? Chelly and I invented that word back in 1989. Let’s make it go viral. I mean, really, it’s time. Start hash-tagging all your Facebook statuses #tinkletorium whether they need it or not. Per-she-ate it….)
I seem to have gone off-topic again…
Stop laughing. Stop. It.
The things I discovered in that cupboard…I swear. Bih-Zarr-Oh. I learned a lot about myself, really. (Mostly, that I *am* nuts…) There were several half-full bottles of water, like I was, I don’t know, saving them for later?? I found some tools, a rejected shower head, a box of orchid food (orchids like tinkletoriums because they usually have nice filtered light and lots of humidity), a (God-as-my-witness unopened and untouched, thankyouverymuch) Perfect Bun Maker (dear Lord…). There were roughly nine (NINE!) mascaras (one of which was purple and…glittery), a broken curling iron, and I won’t even admit how much nail polish.
They massed produced these.
I found, I kid you not, the most horrific pair of sunglasses ever massed-produced in the known world. The Q-Tips were in mid-exodus, since I caught them strewn all through the cupboard on their way out. Pens. (No, really. I found writing utensils-using the plural form here-in my *bathroom cupboard*.) There was some Avengers boo-boo band-aids among the first-aid items, because, well, because they’re awesome, and some hair-clipper attachments I thought had evaporated ages ago.
Yeah, that red one’s *fuzzy*. It’s okay: I trashed it, along with those God-awful scrunchies from the Clinton Administration.
There were no less than eight back issues of Vanity Fair, and even more of InStyle, not to mention that gigantic Restoration Hardware catalog. The ponytail elastics had been reproducing like crazed rabbits. I lost count somewhere around sixty-four. Six unopened deodorants (I’m obviously nervous about running low), and of course, there’s The Lipstick Addiction I am trying to hide. (Don’t worry-I’m not actually outing myself here. Only six of you are reading this, and y’all are already aware of the problem…but here’s the thing: when I find a shade I don’t actually have to combine with two or three others, they discontinue it! I can’t throw them away!)
If you’ve read this far, hopefully it’s obvious to you that this post is not going to end with Pinterest-Worthy Organizational Tips, or reminders to replace your mascara tubes after three months. (Pshaw. I’m living on the edge: I run the tube under scalding hot water the minute it starts thinking about clumping on me, and that black gunky eye-lash gold flows free as hot espresso into a cup.) I am not exactly posing as A Fountain of Wisdom here.
Besides, I’m on a budget, here, for Pete’s sake: all of my make-up was purchased with coupons, or given to me by my Avon rep, who shows up with lots of yummy stuff right after she cleans out the inventory in her bathroom cupboard and…wait…hey! She happens to share my last name and thinks I need to start taking skincare seriously, because, well, I’m Over Forty. Her concern is touching, plus she brings me free nail polish and mascaras. You should see her skin: it’s *gorgeous*. I should really start following her example.
The Head-Blatherer-in-Charge, freshly moisturized, and still stunned that these sunglasses were mass-produced.
Based on this ridiculous cupboard situation, one would think I spend every free moment in Walgreens, which actually isn’t really that far from the truth. But, as I sat there in the floor shaking my head at the mess I had made because of my ridiculous vanity and my weird need to save…stuff, I saw (once again) how stupid holding onto things can be. Most of the things I had shoved in there so I’d have them “if I needed them” have been utterly forgotten in my Tinkletorium Purgatory. I felt so much better after I lugged that bag (okay, full disclosure: two full Target bags…sigh) to the garage. Lighter, even. I looked into the mirror, realizing I haven’t actually worn mascara or painted my fingernails in weeks, and thought, “Girl, you’re not half bad just as you are.”
I smiled, slathered on some moisterizer on my face and some yummy grapefruit mandarin lotion I found on my worn-out limbs, treated my toesies to a salt-scrub, and then opened my the cupboard under my husband’s sink…
Anybody out there gotta blow-torch I can borrow?