no, really. this is my real personality, part II
When I'm nervous about something -- like tonight's comedy taping -- I sometimes turn domestic. It's because I know I'm not going to fuck up picture hanging, floor polishing, or bathtub cleaning. My bathtub is routinely spotless enough to eat from (something that has never been remarked upon or appreciated by any gentleman caller), but sometimes it needs to be extra clean.
And sometimes, a couch needs a little sprucing up. Here is my couch:
It is very white and the fabric has been clawed by my cat. It looks naked, like it's missing its slipcover, because it is, in fact, missing its slipcover. I never bothered to put the slipcover on it because the slipcover is only a shade off from white, so it seemed useless to wrestle the thing on there, like making a huge effort to put on a Saran-Wrap dress before attending a party (and if I did that in college, well, I was young and on a budget, and by no means was I attempting to win a costume contest at a gay-themed dance).
I decided that I would like my slipcover to be avocado green, so I went to the Astor Place KMart (doesn't it hurt a bit that there is an Astor Place KMart?) in search of avocado Rit dye, but they had only Regular Green. Really, it was a very unimaginative palette of colors. So I bought a Regular Green and a Regular Yellow and resolved to mix them together, in my bathtub. The back of the box warned that fabric being dyed should be "stirred continuously," and I imagined myself like a witch over an avocado-green cauldron of slipcovers, as if creating some kind of domestic potion.
Once I got the bathtub full of dye and added the slipcover, it occurred to me that this was a once-only opportunity to dye other things green, so I rummaged through my place and found:
In the end (after much rinsing-until-clear), everything turned out gorgeous except the sweater, which absorbed almost no dye at all. Did the manufacturers of this sweater know that they were selling virtually stain-proof sweaters? Why did they not advertise this? Imagine if you had developed unbreakable light bulbs, but didn't bother to say anything -- no no, why make a fuss? Just sell it as a regular lightbulb. That is what I call excessive humility.
Here is what my bathroom looks like with wet, sage-green objects everywhere.
In the end, it looked like the dye had stained my bathtub, but actually the dye had stained the soap scum around my bathtub, which was very useful in getting it spotless again, much like those dye tablets you used to chew as a kid that highlighted where you needed to brush better.
In further illustration of this post, here is a picture of me with a feather-duster. Housekeeping is a lost art. Though much-maligned for its role in the Feminine Mystique, it really has to do with Being On Your Shit, and I support Being On Your Shit.
And sometimes, a couch needs a little sprucing up. Here is my couch:
It is very white and the fabric has been clawed by my cat. It looks naked, like it's missing its slipcover, because it is, in fact, missing its slipcover. I never bothered to put the slipcover on it because the slipcover is only a shade off from white, so it seemed useless to wrestle the thing on there, like making a huge effort to put on a Saran-Wrap dress before attending a party (and if I did that in college, well, I was young and on a budget, and by no means was I attempting to win a costume contest at a gay-themed dance).
I decided that I would like my slipcover to be avocado green, so I went to the Astor Place KMart (doesn't it hurt a bit that there is an Astor Place KMart?) in search of avocado Rit dye, but they had only Regular Green. Really, it was a very unimaginative palette of colors. So I bought a Regular Green and a Regular Yellow and resolved to mix them together, in my bathtub. The back of the box warned that fabric being dyed should be "stirred continuously," and I imagined myself like a witch over an avocado-green cauldron of slipcovers, as if creating some kind of domestic potion.
Once I got the bathtub full of dye and added the slipcover, it occurred to me that this was a once-only opportunity to dye other things green, so I rummaged through my place and found:
- one formerly heather gray Spelling Bee t-shirt (heather gray? gross)
- a cream-colored sweater my mom bought me in 2002 and which I've worn once
- a tan v-neck I haven't bothered to wear in a long time
- an impractically cream-colored bathroom rug
- two pairs of white cotton panties (I know those can be sexy in a Lolita kind of way, but these weren't those ones)
In the end (after much rinsing-until-clear), everything turned out gorgeous except the sweater, which absorbed almost no dye at all. Did the manufacturers of this sweater know that they were selling virtually stain-proof sweaters? Why did they not advertise this? Imagine if you had developed unbreakable light bulbs, but didn't bother to say anything -- no no, why make a fuss? Just sell it as a regular lightbulb. That is what I call excessive humility.
Here is what my bathroom looks like with wet, sage-green objects everywhere.
In the end, it looked like the dye had stained my bathtub, but actually the dye had stained the soap scum around my bathtub, which was very useful in getting it spotless again, much like those dye tablets you used to chew as a kid that highlighted where you needed to brush better.
In further illustration of this post, here is a picture of me with a feather-duster. Housekeeping is a lost art. Though much-maligned for its role in the Feminine Mystique, it really has to do with Being On Your Shit, and I support Being On Your Shit.
posted by JenIsFamous at 1/14/2006 01:40:00 AM
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