Critical Thinking for Success!

I haven't posted in awhile, but that's alright.

• A quick update on my life: 
• I am now living in my grandparents' basement 
• I'm also freezing my ass off in my grandparents' basement
• I'm forced to listen to my mom and brother bickering constantly
• I have to fight for food in order to survive
• Five people is too many for a one-bathroom house

As a result of the bathroom dilemma, the other morning I was forced to take a makeshift bath in the sink in the basement. 

Yes. 

You saw that right. 

Bath in the sink. 

Hurray!

No. 

My granddad had moved into the bathroom and set up base camp. He takes awhile in there, perhaps he does crosswords or word searches (he likes those) and decides to write a short novel whenever he uses the bathroom, so I, in need of a solution, went to my mother. 

Me: Mom, what do I do. I need to get clean, but granddad is in the bathroom. I'll never get in there in time. 

Mom: Well, you could wash up somehow. 

Me: The only place to wash up is downstairs.
Mom: Yeah. You could wash up in the basement sink. I'll keep your brother from coming down. Here, you can use your body wash stuff. 

Me: -catches the body wash she throws at me- Is this legit?

Mom: -nods- Mmhm. 

After that I bummed a razor off my mother (which was hard to get because she guards them as if they're hidden treasure), and ran downstairs. Armed with a towel, a gown (because I like them) my razor, a wash cloth, and my body wash, I was ready for anything. 

My hair was clean, so all I needed was a quick wash, right?

Easy enough. 

But I erred. 

As I was kicking out of my pants, I got too enthusiastic and heard a crunch under my foot that came from my pocket. Assuming it was just change, I was nonchalant, and heard another fatal crunch. 

When I remembered my razor minutes later, I went to retrieve it from my jean pocket only to realize that it had broken. 

Fuck. 

I had to shave. This was imperative. I'd been razor-less for over a week. I NEEDED that fucking razor. 

Scrambling, I looked around my room, determined to find a way to fix the razor. My prayers were answered when I found it: teal duck tape. 

Oh yes. Reminiscent of my days at college (I'm still in college, just not where I was) I would use duck tape to save the day and patch my life back together!

I did such a good job putting my razor back on the mend. It worked just fine, once I'd gotten it taped down tight. 

(Will Schick sue me for this?)

So there I was. Naked except for my socks, washing up one of the grungiest sinks ever. My grandparents have owned their house for over 40 years. This sink is original, to my knowledge. Dear. Lord. 

There's my body wash. Next to the dog shampoo. And generic paper towels. Awesome. 

I'm nervous, my socks are getting wet, and every creak I hear just HAS to be my little brother careening down the stairs to use the bathroom. 

Just as I'm getting comfortable I hear the basement door open, and a THUD THUD THUD as my brother's size 14 Air Jordans hit the steps. 

I screech and whip around, having nothing to cover up with. 

"WHOA WHOA WHOA. HOLD UP. GO. GO BACK UPSTAIRS. DO NOT LOOK. I WILL KILL YOU. NEVER COME BACK."

I was starting to sound like Scar from The Lion King.

My brother skidded to a halt, spewing apologies as I continued to spout a litany of curses, telling him to go back upstairs. 

I finished my make-shift bath and dried off, quickly jumping into the safety of my awesome gown. 

As I retreated back to the warmth of my room, I peeled off my socks and wondered at how close my brother had come to seeing me naked (a thought I was highly uncomfortable with) and how five people cannot share a bathroom comfortably. 

This sheer curtain is all that kept me from being discovered. Not bueno, my friends. 

I think this is the most revealing blog I've ever posted. But that's alright. I'm just glad I got to share with you how uncomfortable I was. If you walk away from this feeling a tad uncomfortable as well, then I've done my job. 

Peace out!

-Roo