Recently, I had the joyful experience of having my husband home for an extended period of time. Do to a holiday shut-down at work and some oral surgery, he was home for almost two weeks.
I used this time to finish many projects that had been sitting around half done, as I now had someone to keep the little people (aka my children) from helping. Not that I don’t appreciate help, but little people help equals twice as much work.
One of these projects included cleaning out under the bathroom sink. I’m sure some of you have a project similar to this. A spot where all the extras go, everything piles up, and it’s easier to just buy another than to brave the depths and risk losing a hand.
Unfortunately, I made a grave error. My thinking was that my husband would keep the little people away until nap and then he could help. You’d think that after knowing him for 12 years, I would have known better. (It's been almost 17 years now and I still make mistakes like this!)
Armed with a garbage can and the clear intent of throwing away anything that had not been used in the last year, I started pulling everything out from under the sink. I had make-up from junior high and samples of everything from bad perfume to bathroom wipes. Checking expiration dates and chucking anything else that I hadn’t laid eyes on in a while, I was on a roll. Then, my husband walks in.
He calmly sits down next to me and politely asks if I’d like any help. Just when I thought everything would go well, he reaches into the garbage can and starts pulling things out.
First, he finds a small pump lotion dispenser. As he digs for the bottle that matches, he quietly asks himself how much the pump dispenses and if it would be enough to actually measure and, of course, if he had the means to measure it. (I didn’t know what he wanted that dispenser for until he read this article, he wanted to use it to try wool carding – one of his many hobbies that he’s thinking about starting.)
At this point, I’m frantically hiding things and trying to finish up my project without transferring all the offending items straight to my husband’s horde of things he may use.
Then, he spied a sample envelope containing fake suntanning lotion. His eyes got big and he made the appropriate “ooohhhhh” sounds. Before I could stop him, he had the envelope torn open and was squirting lotion up his arm. He rubbed, and rubbed, and rubbed. The stuff wasn’t going away and he had quite a mess. At that time, he decided that he should probably read the directions. The directions stated that the user should rub the lotion in until the white vanishing cream disappears.
My confused husband looked at me and said, “Vanishing cream?”
He had neglected to tear the package completely open and only one of the enclosed lotions had come out. So he remedied the situation and was rubbing more lotion on his arms.
I should probably take the time to tell you that my husband is white. Not just Caucasian, he’s WHITE. As in, put on your sunglasses before you see him in shorts, white.
Well, thank goodness for either old (expired in 2001) lotion or not reading the directions, because my husbands arm remained close to its original color, just dirtier. Although I’m sure he would have come up with some appropriate response had it turned 10 shades darker than the rest of him. He’d probably tell people that he’d been injected with Native American DNA and was just waiting for it to spread throughout!
About that time, the phone rang and I was left to quickly throw everything else back under the sink and make a quick trip to the garbage outside. I guess I’ll have to wait for another time to clean out all the hidden treasures under my sink. Probably some time when my husband is at work and my kids are grown. I wonder what I’ll find then and what I’ll have to worry about Isderf trying out next!
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