Wednesday, August 30, 2006

the haunted bathroom: part II

I bought new shampoo today. I thought it best to try a different kind. However, just as I began to feel I had triumphed over said ghost, I noticed that my wooden back scrubbie was broken. The same back scrubbie I bought last friday. The one that I only used this morning and which was totally non-broken. Come to think of it..this is the second wooden back scrubbie that has broken. The first one was purchased at target and I blamed the breakage on the cheapiness of my selection. But the latest one was purchased at an actual bath shop (semi non-cheapy)..and I tested several of them before selecting the one which I thought had the scrubbie most sturdily attached to the handle. Sigh. I can only attribute this stroke of bad luck to the ghost. And to have it occur the day after my eerie shampoo disappearing act, I can only suspect that it is a mean ghost, that is not lacking in acumen.

However, I have a plan and it is this: glue the scrubbie back onto the handle. A stroke of pure genius, surely. Then the ghost will be foiled! But now I have to agonize over whether super-glue is good enough or whether I need to buy wood glue. If I have to buy wood glue then I'll be sentenced to wander around target for 3 hours looking for it, since nobody that works there can ever answer my questions properly. (Even after many attempts, I only ever receive one of three responses: (1) "It's somewhere down that way." (2) "We don't carry that" (when they really do carry it, and I find it on my own 30 minutes later), and (3) "We don't carry that" (when it's true and I waste 30 minutes looking for it). I suppose I could go to home depot..but that is so far away, and I'd hate for the ghost to think I went to any trouble. Or I could just order it online, which is definitely the easiest solution, but then I'd have to pay for shipping and I hate that. Sigh.

The lawn
Is pressed by unseen feet, and ghosts return
Gently at twilight, gently go at dawn,
The sad intangible who grieve and yearn....

~T.S. Eliot, To Walter de la Mare

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So long, and thanks for all the fish.