Making lesbians happy – one book at a time

Killer Bathroom

I talked to my mother this morning at 9 a.m. This was unusual for two reasons. First, because she knows I write all morning and therefore doesn’t call me until the afternoon and secondly, because I write all morning and don’t pick up the phone even if she does call.

But today I did pick it up.  And our conversation went like this:

Me: Hi, Mom.

Mom: Hi, Daughter.

Me: What’s up?

Mom:  Well, I was wondering what you were doing?

Me: Writing.

(Long pause.)

Me: What’re you doing?

Mom: Well, what are your plans for the day?

Me: Well, after I write, I’m dropping Saxon off at the chiropractor.

Mom: Oh.

Me: Do you need me to do something for you?

Mom: Well, I was wondering if you could drive me to the emergency room.

Me: What?! Did you just say the emergency room?!

Mom: Yeah, I’m kinda spurting blood.  I cut myself shaving in the shower and my leg is spurting blood.


Mom: Yeah.  I have a pressure bandage on it, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to drive myself to the hospital.

(I dropped the phone and ran out of the house.)

Mom: Layce?  Are you there?  Layce?  Layce?

Thank God my mother only lives six blocks from me. I picked her up and drove her to the hospital.  They glued her leg back together.  That’s what they do now.  No stitches.  They use superglue.

I got back home and finished my writing for the day.  Then I took a shower.  I didn’t shave my legs because it kinda scared me.  While I was showering I thought about getting an electric razor.  I wondered how much they cost.  Maybe I should get one for my Mom.  Maybe I’ll get one for Emma and one for Saxon while I’m at it.

I got out of the shower and put on deodorant.  It was the gel kind. The kind that squeezes up through the tiny holes and you wipe it in your armpit.  I don’t like this type of deodorant, but it’s marginally better than the white kind that leaves streaks on your clothing and bra.

Anyway, the deodorant broke.  And by broke, I mean the top of it came off while I was swiping it under my arm and a big glob of gel stuck in my pit.  I stood staring in disbelief at the empty container I was holding while the glob slid down my ribs.

It was ooey and gooey and all together unpleasant.

It slid down my side and all the way down my leg and plopped onto the floor.  I looked at my side. It looked like I had been attacked by a giant slug that left its trail marks down my entire body.

Thoroughly grossed out, I turned on the shower.  I stepped over the tub with one foot.  I straddled the tub, aiming the left side of my body under the spray of water.  Once I was sure that the goo was gone, I turned off the water, stepped out of the tub and headed for the towel rack.

I didn’t make it.  The glob of goo was still on the floor and I slipped on it. As I was sliding, I reached for my hanging towel.  I pulled on the towel and fell at the same time.  The last thing I saw was the towel rod being pulled out of the wall and coming straight for me.

I hit the floor with the back of my head.  That hurt.  But it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as the towel rod hitting me in the chin.

I was dazed and confused for a few moments.  After the bluebirds and stars stopped circling around my head, I touched my chin.  Blood.  My chin was bleeding.  And by bleeding, I mean it was BLEEDING A LOT.

I started to call out for Saxon, then remembered she was at the chiropractor.  I crawled across the bathroom floor and retrieved my phone off the back of the toilet.  I dialed.

Mom: Hi, Daughter.

Me: Hi, Mom.

Mom: What’s up?

Me: What’re you doing?

Mom: Oh, nothing much.

Me: What did you have planned for the rest of the day?

Mom: Why, did you need something?

Me: Yeah, I was wondering if you could drive me to the emergency room.

Mom: What?!

Me: Yeah, I busted my chin putting on deodorant and I’m kinda gushing blood and I think I need to be glued together again.

Mom: O MY GOD!

(There was a clunking sound – like her phone being dropped.)

Me: Mom? Are you there?  Mom? Where are you?

WARNING: Statistics show that the bathroom is the most dangerous room in the house.  70% of all home accidents occur in the bathroom. In America alone, there are nearly 200,000 fatal accidents in the bathroom each year.

That is why I now sponge bathe and shave my legs in the kitchen sink.

Coming September 9th!

ClT 3 cover

Comments on: "Killer Bathroom" (7)

  1. Oh, my goodness…. I have tears streaming down my cheeks!! Thanks for the laugh! Oh, but I do hope you and your mother are ok!

  2. Mary Deutcher said:

    I know all about those killer bathrooms. Yellow Lab, bath, wet floor, no shoes, slick and a hairline fracture in the elbow! Bathrooms= DANGER!! I am laughing like crazy! ……Dutch

  3. Donna MacArthur said:

    Do we see hairy legs and armpits and no deodorant in your future?

  4. Sheri Campbell said:

    Only from you or Saxon….I guess your mom too. What a family. Love that you have each other. Good blog but sorry for all of you on the injured list.

  5. Too funny, sounds like you have a similar relationship with your mum as I do mine.

  6. My mom used to sit me in the kitchen sink and wash me as a kid. What’s a bathroom?

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