Sparkler Simbelmyne is blogging from Greece, where she's spending her summer with her best friend, Tory, as well as her brother, uncle and grandma. Click here to see her last installment! —SparkNotes Editors
OH MY GUMDROPS!
Everything is wet! Everything! I’m writing this from the top of a dresser, into which Tory is shoving everything we brought with us to Greece. We must have ghastly, horrible, nauseatingly dreadful karma. That, or I’m dreaming and any second now a huge, dancing chocolate bar will waltz into the room and whisk me away to his palace of sugar and yummy things.
Actually, at the moment he might have to wade into the room. Or swim. Or maybe take a small seafaring vessel.
Picture this, dear reader…
I am sleeping like an angel in my bed, when I am awoken in the early morning by a dripping noise. And the sound of sloshing water.
Let me emphasize how much of a NON-morning person I am: Mornings, for me, rank somewhere between calculus and serial killers. Though I’m actually a bit of a Hannibal Lecter fanatic, so let me rephrase that: mornings rank between calculus and serial killers who are not Anthony Hopkins. Or calculus and runny eggs. I hate runny eggs…they freak me out.
So I open my bleary, un-caffeinated eyes, to behold Tory standing at the end of the bed, looking extremely, intensely flustered.
“It happened again,” she says, and held up a miserable-looking, sopping wet bra.
Now, inquisitive and sharp readers will want to know what happened before, so they can fully understand what was happening at that moment. Well, it all started yesterday afternoon, when I decided I needed to take care of a little issue that had been growing steadily worse…
-flashback noises ensue-
When you’re swimming every day, you really tend to notice your body’s little flaws. I had known for a while that my legs were getting rather prickly, and that if the situation was not remedied…well, let's just say that dogs might have started mistaking my legs for new friends. The shower in the apartment Tory and I are sharing has no shower head, and instead rather resembles a garden hose. Yes, it is very awkward trying to clean oneself with that thing.
Anyway, this presented a problem: if I was going to shave my legs without taking a proper shower, I would need some assistance. And luckily I spied some assistance in the next room, playing with the melted wax from a candle.
“Hey Tory?”
“Yeah?”
“Could you help me shave my legs?”
“Um…really?”
“Yup.”
“…OK…”
And so in a few moments we were in the shower with our pants rolled up and having a grand old time. That is…until it happened.
“Sophie…the shower’s leaking!”
“No, it’s not, it’s just the splashing.”
“No, it’s definitely not; oh my god, it’s out in the hall.”
“Aw shucks.”
So maybe I didn’t say “aw shucks.” I probably said something a bit more scandalous, like “Dear me!” or “Well I’ll be a koala bear’s bum!”
We both bound out of the shower, which is an act more easily said than done when the bathroom floor is covered in at least four inches of water.
We then discovered that the entire hallway, as well as our bedroom, were flooded with many, many inches of water. An insane number of inches. And don’t even get me started about how many centimeters it was. OODLES OF CENTIMETERS.
So of course, like the sensible young adults that we are, we break down into earth-shaking fits of laughter mixed with squeals of horror at discovering all of our clothing and belongings that were left on the floor are completely soaked. But really, it was mostly laughter.
At this point, I (in my eternal wisdom) decide it would be a fine time to use the bathroom. When I flushed the toilet, however (and this is where it gets exciting), the drain on the bathroom floor actually erupted, sending a huge flood of water and grimy sand all over. It erupted right under my feet mind you, which sent me shrieking into the hallway, where I frantically and gracelessly attempted to keep my balance in the flood waters. In addition, it took us a moment or two to realize that it was just sand coming up from the drain, and not something more sinister.
We spent the rest of the day sweeping the water out onto the porch with brooms, documenting our efforts with my camera, and desperately trying to hide the issue from my grandmother and uncle, who are staying in the adjoining apartment. It was gross and tedious and damp and lots of other nasty adjectives.
And so this brings me back to the present, as I sit here on this dresser and try to type as Tory laments her wet clothing, which is, all of it, bee-tee-double-you. And keep in mind this is toilet and used-shower water.
Ah yes...how I love mornings.
Simbelmyne ;)
By: Contributor
Topics: Life
Tags: sparkler posts, travel
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