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Thursday, January 22, 2015
Medicine Cabinet Surprise
I have a feeling that most of the time, I kind of coast through life and seldom notice things that other people consider useful. Events happen and I just glide along not really paying attention to minor details. I’ve always considered myself to be an observant person, but I’ve come to realize that my observations were always centered on people, their aura, their actions and emotions. When it comes to objects, if I don’t use it or need it; it doesn’t exist.
Today, after babysitting the toddler that I tutor, I was at my computer sipping on tea and working on my interview of Andy Burns, Editor-In-Chief of Biff Bam Pop and author of Wrapped in Plastic: Twin Peaks and, my friend.
My husband was working on the sink in the bathroom. I didn’t know it was broke, but he was fixing, hammering, drilling and running from our bathroom to the basement to check on the pipes. I wanted to help, but I don’t think my husband has recovered from the last time I offered to help with the plumbing and...well...let’s just say...Dan does not trust me with sharp objects.
Like I said I was working on the interview when Dan gives out a yell. “Marie! Come down here. I want to show you something neat.” I was hesitant to go into the basement because a few moments before he asked me to come down, I’d heard him let loose with a string of explicit language.
When I went into the basement, this is what Dan showed me. Razor blades! There was a ton of razor blades. “Where did these come from?” I ask.
“They are from the wall behind the medicine cabinet,” his reply.
“But, how did they get into the wall?”
Did you know that there is a slot in our medicine cabinet to put used blades? I didn’t. Supposedly, the used blades are pushed through the slot to live happily ever after or, until Dan decides to do plumbing. My husband was surprised that I didn’t know about the slot. I saw it, but never knew what its use was for.
“How did you get rid of used blades?” he asked.
“There was a slot on the back of razor cartridges that my dad would place his old blades in; new blades came out the top; used blades on the bottom.”
We’ve only dislodged a few hundred blades so far, but there are more inside the wall. They can stay there for all I care. As my husband finishes the work on the bathroom, I’m sitting at my desk wondering why someone would invent a slot in the wall for old blades. It must be a man thing.