The Red Shirt Diaries: #29

The Bathtub Blues.

I’ve recently become increasingly aware of the pitfalls and dangers of my bathtub. Here’s a backward timeline of my increasing disease:

January ’21: my drain starts clogging more frequently because of my lengthening hair. The slower draining and pooling, soapy water leave a slippery residue for me next time I step into the tub to shower.

November ’15: I adopt Lizzy, now known as Myrtle because I couldn’t see having a cat with a diminutive form of my sister’s name. Shortly thereafter her murderous intentions are made clear. Compounding that, she also begins peeing in the tub, leaving a slippery streak from the back end of the tub all the way to the drain. I imagine her feasting on my assorted soft bits after I fall in the tub and decide to start keeping the bathroom door closed.

February ’03: a former work colleague misses several days of work after falling in her tub and a new neurosis is born!

Recently, I’ve taken to holding onto the wall when I tip my head back to wet or rinse my hair. Also, while washing my feet – not sure how much increased stability holding the wall with a soapy hand offers…let’s call it a sense of security. I should probably look at getting a few of those tub tread decals or install a bar – not the kind that serves shower beers – for actual safety.

It’s weird, though, how something that started out as a semi-recreational vicarious fear has become more of a potential reality in less than two decades.

Living alone makes the fear potential feel more real. Living with Myrtle makes that fear more of a terror. You just know that b-word wouldn’t care if I was truly dead or not if she were hungry. You should see the mess I return home to if dinner is late.

Not that living with another human would be a treat for them in the eventuality of a shower slip and fall by yours truly.

Maybe if I go silent too long, send a stranger to do the well-being check. Less traumatizing for my friends and family should I fall and end up a snack to tide Myrt over until her rescue. Less traumatizing for me in the event I survive.

And since this is my life/death we’re talking about, you just know I’d live in order to have to endure the awkwardness of being “that guy who fell in the shower”.

Screw it. Once gyms fully reopen, I’ll just start showering there…

The Red Shirt Diaries: #29

7 thoughts on “The Red Shirt Diaries: #29

  1. V says:

    Ummmm, I have thoughts.
    1) This is the definition of a man problem. Clean your damn shower.
    2) This is the definition of old man problems. Having to hold on while you’re bathing. How about we give you that reverse aging potion?
    3) You clearly need to talk to someone with long hair. I’m always open to providing advice if you decide to abandon your stubbornness.
    4) Your cat is psychotic.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. You can always pick up some of those tub bottom stick ons. Unicorns, teddy bears, Disney… or worse those 70s motels with the 5 black strips of no slip sandpaper. Or the motel jobs with ridges. Or… and this is grosser than the tub – the old standby shower mat, or tub mat. They make really thick ones to break your fall… squishy like a padded toilet seat!

    Liked by 1 person

      1. A lot of good options…but after finishing yesterday’s post, I think all I really need to do is put my laptop in front of the toilet. I’ll likely never sit down there again, let alone find myself stuck there. 🤦🏽

        Liked by 1 person

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