11-09-2004 17:23
Name That Can
There are so many fun things about having your only bathroom remodeled!
There's the fun stuff that come with any project where you're letting strangers into your house to do something disruptive -- noise, dust, things moving or being unplugged (such as the washer, and I was deeply confused the first time I tried turning it on and it would not go) and locking up the cat so she doesn't get into trouble. (Luckily, other than that one day when she was so deeply ensconced on the bed that a bulldozer couldn't have moved her, she's fallen for the shake-the-food-bowl-and-lock-her-in-her-room-when-she-shows-up bait-and-switch every single time. Sucker!)
Then there are the special joys of a bathroom remodel. Brushing your teeth in the kitchen sink. Showering at the gym or, for those of us who have showers available there, at work (which is both convenient and a little creepy). And the specialest, most disruptive part of all:
DUNH DUNH!
(Note the gnomes on the right hand side of the picture, confused at having been displaced by this... thing.)
It's like living at a political rally or a drugged-out festival or a camping trip 24/7! It means that if nature calls in the middle of the night, you're climbing into your cold weather gear and going on outside. (Mine consists of a big, thick bathrobe and a pair of fuzzy boots.) It means that you either have to lump it with thin, cheap toilet paper or bring in a supply of the good stuff and risk having it fall on the floor at critical moments. It means that if you bring reading material, and you happen to drop it, there's no way in hell that you're getting it back. And it means that you are completely at the mercy of the people who are supposed to come and vacuum that sucker out.
As I've mentioned before, I don't do well with this sort of inconvenience. I'm a firm believer in the idea that our ancestors made sacrifices so that we would not have to deal with things such as outdoor "plumbing." And like many urban people, I need to tame any reminders of our essential helplessness in the face of dark, mysterious forces like like nature, earthquakes and big, hulking porta-potties in the backyard by anthropomorphizing them.
This is where you come in.
We need a name for the porta-potty. If you come up with the winning name (as determined by a wholly biased panel of jurors that will consist of one or more of me, TheBoy, Redneck Geek, Sweetcheeks, Turtledove and the parents), you will receive a sample of The Soap. This is the magic substance that is supposed to clean up oily skin and cure rosacea and heal the sick. I ordered two samples a while back, tried one, found that like everything else it left my skin dry and itchy, and I've been trying to figure out what to do with the other, unused sample ever since.
So sign my guestbook or e-mail me at magpiesnest at diaryland dot com with your suggestions, and The Miracle Soap That Works For Everyone But Me can be yours. I won't even make you use it at the kitchen sink.