Lovely crappers part II
So I’ve been wanting to do a reno of my bathroom on the cheap since before it was my bathroom. When we went to the open house I waved my hand casually at the tacky 80’s melamine vanity and mirrored wall, “Yeah, I’m just gonna go ahead and tear that down and replace it with a vintage vanity and mirror and shiplap the wall hole made by the torn out tiles. No biggie.” I felt smug as my blood pulsed with my decor prowess. I had definitely watched too much HGTV shows where they cut out the months of work and dolla billz that it takes to get these things done. I had no fucking idea what I was talking about. But to be honest, it didn’t actually take that much cash or time for my reno. I found a mid-century dresser on kijiji and was romanced by a mirror that winked at me in an antique store. I bought me a sink and tap on amazon. Then I called up a contractor they call the Wolf. His sidekick’s name is Peter, I’m not shitting you. They had the job done in just over a week. I like how the vintage vanity mirror lights make me feel like a showgirl in her change room. But less tight and less damaged. I’m also very pleased with my thrift shop titty lady painting. I worry sometimes that she looks like she’s masturbating. But she looks a bit too thoughtful and romantic for all that.
But here I am, going on about practical details in a way I said I never would. What I actually mean to share with you is a much less relevant short story that was born from my feelings of inadequacy triggered by an upcoming medical school reunion. Please note that it’s fiction driven by reality. The reality being that there is actually a colleague of mine who is a superhuman super-achiever that is a neurosurgeon who took some time off and do PhD that advanced the cure of a childhood brain cancer and then started a successful baby food empire. She also birthed and raised 3 children during all this curing cancer/neurosurgeon business. And I can’t even dislike her like I wanna because she is actually really nice in addition to being the best human ever created. She’s also honest to goodness hot. Like a solid 9. I bet she’s a great mom too. So the part where she’s a great human being is real. My feelings of inadequacy in comparison are also definitely real. But for sure the anatomical details about me in the short story are fiction. Mostly fiction. Whatever, you’ll figure it out I’m sure.
Oh yeah… wanna see some before and afters of my bathroom reno first? Here you go:
What can I say? Some people do half-assed renos of toilets and some people use their time to cure cancer. Segway to my story… happy crapping y'all.
The invitation had arrived months ago. I promptly opened it and then placed it on my desk. Then, every day for several months, I worked hard to ignore its presence. “10-year medical school reunion, class of 2009.” Alright alright. Fine, I’d go. I had just completely forgotten to do anything impressive in the 10 years since I graduated. Sure, I owned a brass shark, I once watched 37 hours of Netflix straight, and I had worked up my tolerance so I could eat a whole jar of peanut butter without vomiting, but not everyone sees how impressive those things are. I had also lost 5 pounds. Though first I had gained 70.
I knew I was born to be seriously impressive, but I don’t know how much longer I could sit around the couch and wait for that. I was starting to doubt myself. I knew I had to start a blog, and fast. But it turns out a decor blog for the homeless is neither visually appealing nor inspiring. Homeless people also tend not to have smartphones or reliable internet access. So, back to the drawing board. There wasn’t enough time to become a neurosurgeon, cure childhood brain cancer and start a baby food company endorsed by the Kardashians. I would need another year at least but the clock was ticking.
It started getting to me. I felt tired all the time. I fell asleep in the bathtub regularly. Everything ached and hung a bit lower. Some things were even inside out. One morning, I woke up and found my pubic hair had turned grey overnight. I looked in the mirror, and a middle-aged Polish woman looked back at me with a long, wiry hair growing out of her neck mole. One of her eyes was a bit lazy. I think the neighbourhood children referred to her as “the Nag.” “You!” She croaked with her man knuckle pointing at me, her lazy eye rolling about her head in an accusatory fashion. I ran away, terrified.
Then, it happened. It started as just a run of the mill pelvic organ prolapse. No big deal if you don’t sneeze. Then, one day, I laughed a bit too hard while watching the Dave Chapelle comedy special, and everything just fell out. All of my reproductive organs. Business and sexy. There was nothing left. Just a void. But that wasn’t the impressive part, not yet. At first, I was alarmed. My eyes were wide with terror as my hand met nothingness where my pussy was supposed to be. I squatted over a mirror to confirm, and as I looked through tear-stained eyes, I saw the blackest black even scientists had ever seen or invented. I squinted and brought my head closer to make sure. And then, it happened, I fell right in. I was sucked into a black hole. A giant missing pussy that warped space time. I don’t know how long I was there for, but I do know that when I was finally spit out, I was a different person. And I use the term “person” loosely, because I am pretty sure that I am no longer of this earth. What I do know, is that I am in the possession of the largest vagina in Canada, and probably the Universe, and this vagina is able to simultaneously create and destroy life. Not a baby or two, but entire civilizations and planets. Baby food empires and selfies with Diane von Furstenberg seem silly when compared with such a vagina.
So, yeah, I’ll go the reunion. I’m ready, bitches.
