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?

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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.

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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!)

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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.

I don’t.

Hooray!

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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.

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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

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PS: If you see a short blonde about in Austin wearing gloves for no apparent reason, do not point and laugh. Damn you.