So my mother has... a certain... special gift.
(SIGH)
Okay, so my mother has a knack for something absolutely abhorrently terrible. It has to do with my grampa. These are things that she has said to him:
"So what do you think about that kidnapping case?"
"So Cathy said she'd come to visit this fall... You know, when you move up here?"
"I don't know, I think they're building a Mosque in our neighborhood."
I guess she does this because, I DON'T KNOW, she seems to remember my grampa having a history of acting like a calm and conciliate companion for controversial and complicated conversations?* (Key words there, if you don't know my grampa, are Kidnapping, Move Up Here, and Mosque. God only knows what possessed her to say Mosque. She could've said A Gas Station, A Target, or the all powerful I Don't Know.)
*That's some kick ass alliteration right there, if you didn't notice. ENGLISH 12 POETRY UNIT, HERE I COME!
Moving on.
So the story I'm about to share with you happened right after incident #2 in the example list. I won't go into details, but it involved my grampa forgetting about his insurance covering assisted living (for the umpteenth time) and us trying quickly to recover (FOR THE) and remind him (UMPTEENTH) that he's not paying for it (TIME.).
As soon as the shouting started, I bolted. Overcome by the pressure of my small teenage world, I burst into tears. Gina came over and was all like, "Oh hai?" and then we talked and laughed and lightened up. But one of the things she mentioned to me was "This would be a good night to curl up with some headphones." and in jest, "Steff needs a beer." Now, combine this with my mom's advice. ("I'm sorry you're feeling down. Sometimes we all need a - Ohmygosh, you need to wash your feet, your feet are black. Dan - Dan. Come see her feet. See how black they are.") And so, beer+computerspeakers+footbrush+bubbles followed. Makings of a good night, no?
So I'm just going to share some wisdom with you, here. You will never feel more vulnerable then you do in a bathtub. I don't know if it's because of the myriad of horror films (The Shining, Mirrors, What Lies Beneath, Psycho) or whatever, but everytime you turn off the water and settle into the opaque bubbles, you accept that there is probably a sudden 10% increase in the chances of you getting raped, kidnapped, stabbed, your jaw getting ripped apart (Mirrors, holy shit). All of this plus my second beer of the day? Now it's 20%.
So I have my music going for my relaxing bubbledeath, and it's pretty damn reposeful. (Check it out - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rzX350VPIqc, please ignore the geekiness.) So my random playlist of Zelda songs ramble on, leaving me in pixelated perfumed pastures and rasturized rambling rivers. And then, out of no where, this happens.
(And at this point I have pretty much embraced death.)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LGxGD5Y9uWY
Keep in mind that as I am in a tub, I can not change the song, so I sit and listen to the whole thing. Petrified. Please listen till the end, it gets wicked creepy.
I'm never taking another bath.
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