Monday, June 27, 2011

In or Out.

I'm sitting with my face tucked near the mirror plucking the stray chin hairs that just never seem to go away. Orion who is usually comfortably asleep beneath the sink, is up prowling around the bathroom. I pause from my deep concentration on microscopic hairs to look at him.
"What's going on?"
He ignores me and continues to move about, hops in the empty tub, hops out. I return to my chin hairs.
I can't have removed my eyes for more than a second before the trash can teeters in my pereherial vision, tumbling from the window sill where it has been propped since Orion came to live with me. I jerk back from the mirror making a lunge for it, connecting with a flying labrador, who is frantically leaping out of the open toilet, flinging toilet water from his toes in the air. I catch the trash can, but don't have the speed or hands to catch the dog shampoo bottle, or toilet paper that crash to the floor. Orion, feet free, makes a dive for the new play objects.
"NO!" I shout, tossing the trash back up on the window sill, dropping the lid to the toilet and chasing after his soaked self. I recover the toilet paper, that is warping with the exposed-to-toilet-water edges, and debate just depositing it in the garbage.
I am broke.
Can't let a roll of toilet paper go to waste.
I put it back up on the shelf and flick the light switch on my way out. Chin hairs can wait. I cross my fingers on the fan to air out the rest of the place.

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