Lesson learned

In the past, when something I was ashamed or embarrassed of happened, I would pretty much feel bad. Now I say to myself: how wonderful! more material for the blog!

So today I was at the pool. After I had finished swimming as much as I wanted to, I went to the jacuzzi and just sat in the warm water. Along came a young man (probably in his mid 20s) with a book. A book and a jacuzzi? Not your best combination. But who was I to say anything? So he pulled over a chair, ostensibly so he could sit with his feet in the jacuzzi. However, sitting on the chair made his feet unable to reach the jacuzzi, so he decided to sit at the edge of the jacuzzi. Yes, with the book. The wet book.

I decided to leave the jacuzzi at that point since I was a bit concerned that whatever was wrong with him might be contagious (and it was time to leave anyway).

I showered, dressed, and then, before blow drying my hair, went to put on makeup. You see, not only is my skin naturally very red, but showering reddens it to the point that people who see me after a shower normally say “Have you been crying?” Makeup is a must. As I looked in the mirror I could see where the antibiotic my grandson had spit out in the morning was adorning my silk blouse.

I had forgotten that the makeup was almost gone and when I pushed down on the little plunger, nothing came out. I unscrewed the top, added a little water, shook, and applied some to the sponge. It was only when I did that the second time that the plunger worked a little too well. The makeup sprayed onto the front of my blouse.

Now if you don’t use makeup or if you are a man (who I hope doesn’t use makeup, but who knows these days?) you may not know that makeup does not easily come out of fabric. I immediately took my towel out, wet it, and began frantically wiping the front of my blouse. As much as I tried to get it clean, it wasn’t working. So, I decided to add some liquid hand soap to the wet towel and rub very hard. It appeared that the makeup was actually starting to come out, but while rubbing the blouse very hard, I had actually pulled off a button that closed a strategic area. I knelt on the floor and found the button, put it in my cosmetic bag and then contemplated my next move. I now had a blouse that was wet on most of the front with no button to close where a button should be. I had no safety pin. Instead, I dug back into the gym bag and got out the long wide piece of fabric (a pareo) that I put over myself on the way to and from the shower. It became a very large scarf that I put over my shoulders and tied in a large tie across my chest.

So here is the lesson I learned: You may think that it was not to judge Mr. Book-in-the-jacuzzi, but alas, that was not the real lesson, although I do understand that now. In fact, it was to understand that what an almost one year old can do to my blouse is nothing compared to what I can do to it.