I'm weird. I know it, I own it and in most instances, I embrace it. I have a freak flag and I fly it with pride, but apparently not everyone embraces my weirdness and quirks. I like to think they're charming. My husband and parents, well, I think they just think I need counseling.
Last month the Hubs and I moved into a new home as many of you know. As with any home change comes many a learning curve. One of said curves for us is our new shower in the master bedroom. We transitioned from a curtained shower to a glass shower, which is the first for moi.
As a glass shower rookie, I immediately went out and bought a shower door squeegee thingy as to avoid unsightly streaks in our future. And thus began my personal squeegee dilemma...
Enter shower/bath phobia, or weirdness depending on who you ask...
I cannot stand the feel of wet tile or porcelain on my skin. Even thinking about it gives me the willies. As a child, I would only sit in the tub if the porcelain was covered by a towel or washcloth. It was a non-negotiable. As an adult, even when in my own shower, I strategically stand on the very sides of my feet so that only a portion of my skin is touching the tile. Taking a bath in my own home? Not even a thought in my mind. Why, you ask? I have no earthly idea. I just can't go there mentally.
Tuesday night while discussing my plans to shower before bed, the following conversation ensued:
Hubs reminding me "don't forget to squeegee the glass when you're done. You never squeegee it and it's starting to leave marks."
Me: "Not true. I've squeegee'd it a few times."
Hubs: "I don't think so. Sometimes I even squeegee for you when you're done."
Me: "Here's the issue...I hate squeegee'ing it because then the water on the door that's been flung off of my body while I'm showering runs down the glass and onto my feet. Then I'm standing in it and it's dirty. I've tried squeegee'ing it when the shower is still running so that the glass water isn't hitting my feet but it doesn't work. The glass just gets wet again."
Hubs, after staring at me blankly for a moment "who damaged you so badly that you even think of stuff like this?"
Great question, Hubs. Mom and dad, any thoughts on where and when the damage took place?
Squeegee water on my bare feet...this is a heavy cross to bear. I cannot be the only one who carries this burden, right? Please tell me someone else out there understands my damaged brain? Bueller, Bueller?