It’s All About the Lighting… and the Pretty Fairies (Obviously)

Now, I always look pretty good in the morning, if I do say so myself, and I do. Say so. Myself. At least, I do after I chisel the monster night boogers from my nose and dig out the massive eye snot and wash my face with a steel brush and apply about 15 pounds of makeup (mascara not included) and yank the wild raccoon knots out of my hair with a steel comb and then put all of my steel instruments away and fart a couple of times and get dressed.

I’m not really sure what it is about the farting but that DOES seem to be the last step to a glorious new morning Me. Maybe because it relaxes my face or something. As you can see up there, I look very relaxed and peaceful.

Anyway, even though I usually do look pretty gorgeous in the AM after all the scrubbing and farting, it’s not every day that I look THIS awesome so I decided to take a picture of myself to record the beauty because god knows it never lasts long. And this is how the picture came out:

Obviously, there is some discrepancy here.

I’m not really sure what happened. I looked great in the mirror. Clearly either the bathroom mirror LOVES me or the camera HATES me. I guess it could be *possible* that I have a *slightly* exaggerated opinion of myself but no, I’m pretty sure it’s just that the camera’s broken.

Or it could be that the bathroom is a special, magic room where the pretty fairies live and make wonderful things happen.

And so I have made the logical decision to move into my bathroom.

I’ve already set up the air mattress and made a little bedside table out of old shoeboxes and it’s really convenient because the closet’s in there too so I can stay clothed when I’m not admiring myself naked in the bathroom mirror.

My underwear drawer’s not in there, but that’s an easy fix, once I empty out all of the Big Bean’s shit from the drawers to make room. He might complain, but I’ll just be all, “What kind of guy uses skin moisturizer, anyway? BE A MAN, DUDE” and that should shut him up.

I’ll have to shift a few things around in my schedule, but I’m sure the people at work won’t mind coming over to my house for meetings and stuff, especially if I’m wearing clean underwear. We can order pizza or something, I’ll just have to devise some kind of elaborate pulley system to retrieve my food when the pizza delivery guy arrives at the front door. That shouldn’t be too big of a deal.

Oh, and BONUS – if anyone has to pee during the meeting I’ve totally got that covered.

Other logistical issues may present themselves along the way, but I’m confident the pretty fairies and I can work them out as they arise. Whatever we can’t handle the Big Bean can take care of. Because household duties will now be HIS domain. Obviously.

Speaking of the Big Bean, he seems a little put out right now by all of this but I’m pretty sure the situation will grow on him. Sure, it might be a little more time-consuming for him to get the Bean up and dressed every morning, diapers, dishes, laundry, teeth brushing, bed time, groceries, etc. all on his own. And yeah, there’s the added problem of having to dodge the hot plate when he gets in the shower.

I don’t know if you’ve ever stepped on a hot plate but that baby can really burn foot skin like a bitch – and faster than you’d expect. Luckily, the tub was already filled with ice to keep my Dr. Pepper cold. He didn’t say so, but I could tell he was grateful for that.

And okay, yeah, he might have to make a few extra trips to make sure I have everything I need to live, like Starbucks Peppermint Mocha Twist and cable TV. And food. I’ll probably have a daily list or something.

But he’ll get used to it. All he needs is a little perspective. I mean really, it’s no worse for him than it is for those people who take care of the really, really fat dude who weights like 1,000 pounds and has to be removed from his house by a crane. That guy’s people have it SO MUCH WORSE than the Big Bean.

If I had a medical emergency or something they wouldn’t have to knock down a wall to get to me – just make sure the bathroom lighting and the fairies are all packed up to go with me and I’ll happily walk barefoot (because I had to remove all the shoes to make room for the mini-fridge) to the ambulance. Or ride on the stretcher. Whatever.

So I really don’t get what all the whining’s about.

Besides, he finally has the TV remote all to himself. He’s been wanting THAT for, like, EVER.

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