To The Movies: Pulp Fiction

This week, Momma's family goes to the movies and you're coming with us.  No, we are not all going to pile in the theater to see The Dark Knight. (But how flippin' fun would that be?) Instead, I'm going to demonstrate how every day life at mi casa is straight out of a Hollywood blockbuster.  Let's start with Pulp Fiction...

I'd like to thank my chick, Mari Farthing, for helping me to see that we are A-listers.  (PS - check out our new venture together - Chick Wit!)
Last May, I discovered a leak in our hallway.  Since I had just had kidney stone surgery, I wondered if I had peed my pants - I was already prone to do that prior to the stent.  I quickly checked myself and discovered, thankfully, that I was dry.  I then wondered if The Daughters had run in from the pool and dripped there, but since I was the only one home, I eventually ruled that out too. Eventually. (That Lortab was good stuff, yo.)  I reported it to The Dad and we deduced, after the restoration company came out, that we had a leaky shower pan.

I didn't know shower pans could leak.

I didn't even know we had a shower pan.

This whole leaking fiasco was eight weeks ago.  We've been without a shower for eight weeks.  Eight. Weeks. Sans. Shower. I don't suggest you stand too close. (Sing it, Sting!)

We have a toilet in of our laundry room.  The Daughters have a toilet and a bathtub.  The Dad and I had a toilet and a shower.  I never had a strong opinion about showers until about seven and a half weeks ago.

For the most part, The Daughters and I go to the Family Life Center run by a downtown church to shower.  I'm pretty sure that the volunteers think we are homeless and using the church only for the showers.  The truth is that we are not homeless, but we are using the church only for the showers.

Last week, when my relaxing pool float was interrupted by two feuding sisters who resembled The Daughters, I kindly asked them to vacate the pool.  They obliged.  Not.

 I hopped right out of the pool, turned the water on and sprayed them down.  Then I told them to get to their rooms because Momma needed a time out. As I turned around to shut the hose off, I noticed The Dad's shower stash.

With this sighting, I told The Daughters to pause where they were, and I had them shower before they had their time out.

That's right... Right there in the back yard, I had them wash and condition their hair.  I had them wash their pits, necks and knees.  I had them do each others backs.  We were a regular showering assembly line.

"What if people see us?" they worried.  I assured them I had already contacted Human Services, and no one would be investigating us.  For this anyway.

"But my suit still had chlorine," they protested.  I turned the nozzle to full-center and hit them harder.

"Why can't we just get our shower fixed already?" they whined.

I had them look up so I could rinse the shampoo from their hair and explained, "Nothing we do is ever easy."

It was just like a scene from Pulp Fiction... Only kinder.  And maybe gentler.  And without the cursing.  Also, I like to think I'm better looking than Quinten Tarrantino.  But after a couple of days without the Family Life Center, I'm not sure I smell any better...

Pulp Fiction Backyard Shower (use caution - this contains strong language!)