Sarah’s Bathroom
I hear Amanda. Here she comes, I can tell it’s her because her bags are
banging against the walls.
Great. Another weekend with the queen of clutter.
Here it comes, junk on my floor. Her cosmetic bag, filled with gooey lotions
and sticky sprays. Two towels, socks, jeans, and a t-shirt. Is it too much to
ask to leave me an inch of free space?
She turns the music so loud in the shower that it shakes spotless ceramic walls.
The water from the showerhead is so hot it causes steam to fill my tiny space,
fogging mirrors and leaving a thin film of water on every surface, which will
take at least 20 minutes to evaporate. Is it (this) necessary? I don’t
it is.
She always forgets to replace the caps off (on) the toiletries and never puts
them in their proper place, not like Sarah does. Her gel is oozing down my sink,
the toothpaste drying in clumps on the counter.
I am, yet again, miserable.
-two days later-
Sarah is home, my dear, clean, neat Sarah! The brilliant woman who gave birth
to the gorgeous jungle theme on my walls, the dear soul who organized my inner
being (or, at least the cabinet under the sink.)
Gently, she puts away the products Amanda has left out and washes the toothpaste
out of the sink. She wipes the mirror with a soft, damp cloth because she knows
how much I like that, and straightens the tropical wreath that decorates my
wall.
I’m proud to be her bathroom and I’m glad she is home.