hands of blue
Me staring in bathroom cupboard searching for cleaning products because the shower stall floor is looking not sparkley white and, to be truthful, a little hinky (Austin water is strange and not to be trusted, things water-esque in Austin turn orange if you do not stay on top of them):
Oops, all out of hinky-shower-type cleaning products, but look! A new bottle of Lysol toilet cleaning stuff yay!
I have not actually used this on a toilet yet, I just got it because the store was out of what I usually use on the toilet, but hey —
Surely, if it can clean a toilet bowl, it can clean a shower too, right?
I sluce blue Lysol goo about on the shower stall floor. The goo is a really arresting shade of blue. No worries. It does not stain toilets, right? As long as I don’t get any on my white shirt or the white bath mat all should be well.
I let it sit a bit. Then I scrub it around a bit. Just to be sure.
I don’t wear gloves. This, after all, is not a toilet bowl teaming with horrifying germ deposits from unspeakable elements that enter toilet bowls. This is the floor of a shower stall. How germy could it be?
(Shut up, not that germy, it’s a shower!)
I rinse the shower stall — using an overpriced shower sprayer thingy attachment that is very pretty but was still over priced but still is very handy for this task as long as I don’t accidentally splash blue goo onto the white bath mat or my white shirt.
The shower stall floor is lovely. So clean! So sparkley!
Then I try to rinse off my hand.
The hand I swirled and scrubbed the blue goo about with.
Who knew Lysol blue goo seriously stains organic materials? Organic materilals like, um, Max hands? Well not me, until, um, now.
Love and Kisses,
Your Hands of Blue Adams Girl
PS: If you see a short blonde about in Austin wearing gloves for no apparent reason, do not point and laugh. Damn you.