My shower curtain has become a literary critic….
It started subtly. A few weeks ago, I noticed the mildew stains weren't just random blobs anymore. They had begun to coalesce into shapes. The first one I recognized was a frowning face, appearing after I'd left a half finished paperback on the toilet tank. The next day, the frown was gone, replaced by what looked distinctly like a thumbs down.
The curtain, it turns out, is a purist. It has no time for genre fiction. I tried reading a science fiction novel in the bath once, and the next morning a new, aggressive cluster of dark spots appeared right at eye level, forming the rough shape of a rocket ship crashing into a pile of books. It was a clear statement.
Its disdain for my taste in music is even more pronounced. I played some upbeat pop while getting ready, and the water seemed to bead up and flee from the plastic liner in terror. But when I put on a somber classical cello suite, the droplets clung to the curtain, tracing delicate, melancholic lines down its length, as if weeping in appreciation.
The breaking point was last Tuesday. I was feeling under the weather and decided to listen to an entire self help audiobook about "positive vibrations" and "manifesting your destiny." The shower curtain didn't just form a pattern, it warped. The plastic twisted and buckled, creating a swirling vortex of mildew and water stains that looked for all the world like a toilet flushing itself.
When I stepped out, I saw it. Right in the centre, a perfect, unmistakable outline of a human brain, with a large red X drawn through it in what I can only assume was rust. The message was clear, my brain was the problem.
I haven't listened to self help since.
The curtain and I have an understanding.
OH LOOK WHOS BACK AGAIN, THAT SQUIRREL 🐿 !!
Gotta go 😁😂
The curtain, it turns out, is a purist. It has no time for genre fiction. I tried reading a science fiction novel in the bath once, and the next morning a new, aggressive cluster of dark spots appeared right at eye level, forming the rough shape of a rocket ship crashing into a pile of books. It was a clear statement.
Its disdain for my taste in music is even more pronounced. I played some upbeat pop while getting ready, and the water seemed to bead up and flee from the plastic liner in terror. But when I put on a somber classical cello suite, the droplets clung to the curtain, tracing delicate, melancholic lines down its length, as if weeping in appreciation.
The breaking point was last Tuesday. I was feeling under the weather and decided to listen to an entire self help audiobook about "positive vibrations" and "manifesting your destiny." The shower curtain didn't just form a pattern, it warped. The plastic twisted and buckled, creating a swirling vortex of mildew and water stains that looked for all the world like a toilet flushing itself.
When I stepped out, I saw it. Right in the centre, a perfect, unmistakable outline of a human brain, with a large red X drawn through it in what I can only assume was rust. The message was clear, my brain was the problem.
I haven't listened to self help since.
The curtain and I have an understanding.
OH LOOK WHOS BACK AGAIN, THAT SQUIRREL 🐿 !!
Gotta go 😁😂
