I read or heard somewhere that the bathroom is the most dangerous room in the house, accounting for something over 50 percent of all in home fatalities. Now, I don't know if this is really true, but I can well believe it when I consider the potential in my own home for wet floors, errant razor blades, and attacking dental floss. Yes, that's right, I said "attacking dental floss." I know it's hard to believe, but just this morning I had a near death experience thanks to my daily flossing habits. I had just released a reasonable length of floss from the little plastic container and stretched it between my fingers when a piece of wax, propelled by my energetic snapping of the floss, flew into my eye. Okay, you're thinking, I can see how a piece of wax might hurt a little, but "near death?" Don't you think you might be overstating things? Well no, no I don't, 'cause the darned wax is imbued with some kind of cinnamon flavor, more specifically, the kind that burns - burns like a Texas sidewalk in mid-July or lava erupting from Mt. St. . . .well, you get the idea. So, here I am, home alone, naked, blinded in one eye, stumbling around the bathroom in excruciating pain, trying not to trip on the dog who wants to join in on whatever excitement is causing the profanity spilling freely from my mouth, and it occurs to me; If i slipped on a wet spot, stumbled over the dog, and landed on a razor, what's my husband going to think when he finds me like this in a few days? He'll never know about the floss. He'll never know that this wasn't all brought about by vast clumsiness. His last impression of me will be of a woman who manages to take herself out in the most mundane way possible - slipping and falling. When I was younger I thought I was going to be something big in life, make some sort of difference in the world, just "be somebody" but as I've aged I have begun to come to terms with the fact that all of that, on a big scale, is unlikely. What's more likely is the life I am living right now - wife of a military man, living in a foreign country, training a dog, dabbling in hobbies, and slowly getting older. It's not a bad life. I'd have to say that it's a rare day that tallies on the downside of the spectrum, but it's not where I thought I'd be. And yet, I'm happy with it, I've come to terms with the fact that, important as I may be to myself and to those whose lives I touch, I'm simply just another ant in the anthill. So good, I think I'm at a good place with that, right? But my flossing incident has made me realize that maybe I'm not. Maybe being okay with being an ant in the anthill doesn't mean I'm completely buying into the relative meaninglessness of life. If I were, I wouldn't have been so struck by the possibility of my death looking so pointless, so stupid. I would have thought, "Well, this is it, I guess." and gracefully bowed myself out. And yet, I didn't. Instead, I began thinking, thought for two days in fact, until I realized what was bugging me. And then I wrote it all down for others to ponder. And you know what all of this comes down to, in the end? That whole thing about the bathroom being the most dangerous room in the house? That's a lot more true, and in more ways than one, than I've ever realized before.
1 comment:
"When I was younger I thought I was going to be something big in life, make some sort of difference in the world, just "be somebody" but as I've aged I have begun to come to terms with the fact that all of that, on a big scale, is unlikely."
Okay, I totally know what you are saying, because I feel the exact same way. I had all these aspirations to be amazing, and here I am. A housewife. The only things I have to brag about now have nothing to do with me really, they are the accomplishments of Jonah and Baby #2 (he doesn't really accomplish much yet aside from growing, but growing's pretty good considering he's a fetus). I have never really worked since college, and many of my goals these days go unrealized. I feel like a nobody, and I think it is everyone's dream to be somebody. That's why superheros are so popular I think, it's the ultimate example of being somebody.
And I know this probably doesn't help, me being a nobody, but you've been somebody to me. BB St was never as good after you left (and I think a lot of people would agree with me) for awhile Jonah would even say Max when we walked by your house. You were always there to listen and help if you could, and you even cleaned my dog's face after he ate a bird and it really grossed me out. Now that's a friend. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm glad you didn't slip and land on a razor. That would have been a true tragedy.
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