So last night I was up way too late because correcting a 6th grader's math work is about as exciting as getting a dental exam. Except when you're getting a dental exam you can sit in a squishy reclining chair and close your eyes and enjoy slightly modified versions of to "Love Lift Me Up" or "When a Man Loves a Woman," so yet another a strike against boring dumb ol' responsibilities and clearly reading about the Whole 30 was a reasonable thing to be doing instead. Because hello: procrastination
So I'm minding my own business, or rather ignoring my own business, either one works, and I read this: Your only job for the next 30 days is to focus on making good food choices.
Girl. Let's just stop there for a sec. I do not know whose life you've been spying on, but it ain't mine. I mean, I'm glad in a way because that would be creepy, but not glad in a different way because apparently there is a way to live that makes it possible for food choices to be, like, your only job. Sweet sassy molassey, sign me up! But no, don't. Really. Because how bored would I be? Super duper bored. I wouldn't even have anything to procrastinate and then I wouldn't run across interwebz gems like that due to said procrastination and then WHAT WOULD I TALK TO YOU ABOUT? Food choices? For 30 days? You're welcome.
En. Ee. Way. Have you ever heard of the underside of a sink sweating? Wait, don't leave! This is a real thing. Or it could be a real thing, potentially. During one of the rare moments that I wasn't thinking about food choices, I noticed that the under-sink cabinet in our bathroom had a thin veil of water over it. So I gently emptied everything (which is German for: yanked it out like a raging madwoman because we were supposed to be out the door three minutes ago), organized it carefully (left it in a pile on the bathroom floor), and then asked my darling husband (that has no translation. He really is great) to make all my problems go away.
Well, he couldn't find the leak. It was weird. So we put the stuff back. And found water again. And took the stuff out again. And couldn't find the leak. And put the stuff back. And theny esterday morning before Mass he found it wet again, took everything out again, and then reached up and ran his hand along the underside of the sink basin. Wet. It's like....it's like the dang thing is sweating! And the water collects so slowly that it's never flood-like conditions in there. It's always just kinda soggy and gross.
Clearly I know nothing. The situation is super fab because the sink and countertop are all one big piece (of course), so it's not like replacing a kitchen sink. Nononononononono sir. It's gonna be a real If You Give a Mouse a Cookie moment when we yank that baby out. So maybe I just put down a sweet bed of super absorbent rag-like items and pretend the whole thing never happened? Yes, maybe that.
But seriously, if you've ever heard of this or anything similar happening, bless me with your housey wisdom, por favor.
Unrelated: Blessedly it is clear that my 11 year old has no idea what "rated X" means. Enjoy!
Attack of the Killer Baby from Dwija Borobia on Vimeo.