Rubber gloves are in style at our house
BARB WALTER, Hennessey Clipper
When I hitched up my pants, I knew it wasn’t necessary.
It was symbolic of the plumber task at hand.
It didn’t make it any easier when I pretended my husband’s bathroom was a crime scene.
An evil side effect of a powerful antibiotic at the hospital had given him a severe case of the Running Two Step.
It took a $50 trip to the grocery store to arm myself with several pairs of disposable rubber gloves, Clorox, Lysol, cleaning rags and scrubbers, paper towels and more Clorox.
The baby blue toilet was to be my first assault.
Then it happened.
My nose itched.
I ignored it.
It never itches. T
he throw-away glove went flying off my right hand, I scratched my nose twice, then put on a new glove.
The second time I cleaned the toilet seat I decided it wasn’t clean enough and had to be replaced.
I flipped up the plastic guards that were hiding the screws, before taking off my gloves to search for a screw driver.
I hunched over that toilet seat unscrewing the left screw with the confidence and stance of all great plumbers.
No progress after about five minutes, so I started on the right one. Several minutes later with sweat dripping from my brow while in the stance over the stool, I tried using brute strength to pull the seat off. On the second tug, I was saved by the phone.
Off came the gloves. My hospital-bound husband explained that I could try to unscrew that top screw all day long and it would just keep going around and around. I had to unscrew the long screw beneath it.
That made no sense to me since I was sitting in my Queen Chair by then trying to cool down and couldn’t visualize that toilet seat, but decided I could Google it if his suggestion didn’t work.
After re-gloving and resuming the plumber stance, I found a long screw under the commode bowl that I’d been trying to unscrew.
Two minutes later, success!
Then I heard the front door open and my son yell, “It’s me. I brought you more gloves.”
“Stop!” I yelled. “Don’t come back here!”
“Are you OK?”
“I’m not dressed. I didn’t want to get Clorox on my clothes.” T
he front door closed, then I decided to take a break from breathing Clorox fumes. A friend had warned me about that danger in close places.
That Dr Pepper break also cooled me down so that only part of my head was sweating, so I re-gloved and went back to work.
The door bell rang again.
I threw on a robe, but left on the gloves and answered the door.
It was a salesman.
He eyed the gloves.
Back to work on washing down the walls in the bathroom when a call of nature sent me into my own facility.
Fifteen minutes later and I was re-gloved and back to work when the door bell rang again.
It was some old guy looking for one of our neighbors. I’m pretty sure I had put on a robe, but the guy sure looked at me funny.
It took several more trips into the kitchen for supplies and Dr Peppers but I finally knocked out that job in about four hours.
All that time our two cats sat like porcelain figurines on our bed watching my comings and goings, and my work.
I thought I heard one of them say, “You missed a spot.” I ignored it though, tugged at the waist of my panties, put on a robe and walked outside and breathed in the cold, fresh air.
Posted on Mon, March 18, 2013