Boys are gross.
I just don't know how else to say it.
Wednesdays are bathroom cleaning days in my house. Everyone has a job. I clean my bathroom, the Young Adult cleans his (which is also the downstairs restroom visitors use), and Cookie Boy and Romeo clean the bathroom they share with the Mad Toddler. All was well, until I went to check Cookie Boy's progress in his bathroom. Despite the fact he had already given everything a going-over (Romeo was on the couch, sick), I could not ignore the smell of....well, unclean bathroom emanating from the smallish space. (Notice I am sparing everyone pictures of said grossness.)
I thought about a lecture on how to clean the bathroom (one I have given countless times), but I reconsidered. The sheer magnitude of that smell was not something Cookie Boy could tackle. So, I grabbed bleach, an old cheap toothbrush to be used in cleaning, some paper towels, and a lot of elbow grease.
One word - "EEEUUUUUUWWWWWW"!
After several minutes of cleaning around the toilet, I called Cookie Boy in and showed him the evidence. The pile of yellowish paper towels in the trash, the crud on the toothbrush, the color of the toilet hinges ("they are supposed to be white? Who knew!") - the only thing that gives me any hope at all is that Cookie Boy at least felt disgusted by what he saw.
Then I DID proceed to give a helpful lesson on how to clean the toilet area (including the floor behind the toilet). I also explained that if this were to be done every week, the problem would not get so bad.
It isn't entirely their fault this time, I guess. Since I host the First Lego League meeting with 10 boys running around, that bathroom has had a lot of visitors in recent weeks. ArtGuy calls one "The Mad Flusher". Every week, we have to unclog a toilet after the meeting. "Uh oh," ArtGuy will announce, "looks like the Mad Flusher has been at it again!" This week, the group will get a kindly, firm lecture on the proper amount of toilet paper to use in a single sitting.
Yesterday was a rough day in my house. I had a mini-meltdown, and part of it resulted in a lecture that went something like this:
"I know I am the only girl in this house, and all the rest of you would probably be happy rooting around like pigs, but I am not! Most girls would not be happy like that. If you ever have a hope of having a girlfriend or a wife, or you even want to be friends with a girl, then you had better learn to pick up after yourselves, or you will all end up sad, lonely, single guys when you are grown up."
This was followed by my downing three brownies - and they were worth every single Weight Watchers point!
Poor, poor pitiful me,
Poor, poor pitiful me!
Oh these boys won't let me be
Lord have mercy on me..
Woe, woe is me!
(Terri Clark's song Poor, Poor Pitiful Me)
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