If you’ve been around me lately you’ve heard me complain loudly about the ridiculous cost of textbooks (I spent about $600 this semester) and most loudly about the $99 CSC160 (computer for dummies) text. I won’t bore you with all of the reasons that this class is the biggest waste of my time ever (followed closely by PE), but suffice it to say I was torqued when I had to buy the brand new text for Office 2010.

I am usually extremely picky about the state of my books, and I am so vehement that I have given my voice teacher a complex; he is frightened every time he dog-ears a music book in my presence, and he goes into his other lessons so chagrined that his other students have to remind him that they, unlike me, have no problems with the destruction of the written and bound word (or notation.)

So my actions this evening came as rather a surprise to me.

I wanted to take my bath tonight so that I would have time to curl my hair in the morning, and as I had not yet done my CSC160 homework, for some reason it just seemed like a great idea to take a bubble bath and do my homework at the same time. It felt like the right thing to do.

In the past I have spent hours reading in the bath without mishap, but I think that some of the pent-up aggression I have toward computer class must have come out, taken body, and viciously gotten its revenge.

I walked into the bathroom, started the tub, and set my book and binder down quite firmly on the ledge of the bathtub. I look back at this and wonder to myself how that could have possibly been a good idea at the time–but I will argue creative overload. After hours of sewing, practicing three instruments, and creating a beautiful dinner, my brain had a brief lapse.

Even though setting the book down on the ledge of the bathtub was not the brightest ideas, I did have enough cognitive power left to test it and make sure it was supported. I turned around and started applying  Nair, and then I heard a giant crash followed by a  splash. My reaction, “hmm…a crash and a splash…how peculiar”

My second reaction, “Oh. Wait. Ohhhhh no…..”

I turned around, and on the floor of the bathroom was my binder, completely unscathed.

I lifted my gaze–sure enough, there was my (no longer) brand new never-opened-before $99 textbook, sinking in a soggy mess. The bubbles were also doing really well.

I uttered the obligatory curse word and then lifted the disaster out of the tub and set it on the floor. I pressed down on it and the book simply oozed. A puddle–no, a lake was in the middle of my bathroom floor and spreading lazily toward my binder. I picked that up quickly (how dare the water try to touch my binder?) and then cleaned up the excess water with a towel. I sighed, set my hair dryer on the book, and then got into the tub.

No reason to waste a perfectly good bubble bath, right?

You’d think I’d be appalled, horrified, sickened, and disturbed…but all I really felt (and feel) was a momentary shrug, and then resignation.

(Sidenote: Emily told me once that this is part of my charm: Sometimes I will be completely horrified at random things and then she will tell me something that ought to floor me and I am completely unmoved. I am not sure if this really charming, but I like to think it is.)

I surmise that the only way my subconscious could really demonstrate the amount of disgust I feel for this class was to completely destroy one of the things I hold most sacred: a book. This mirrors the way CSC160 is destroying another thing sacred to me: The beautiful tradition of passing down knowledge, insights, philosophies, and fostering growth via formal education.

Currently I have a sopping wet book lying prostrate on my carpet probably soaking through every layer. I had to carefully pry the wet pages apart so that I could do my homework. I just hope that it dries out enough for me to be able to carry it to school tomorrow…

On the topic of wet and water:


1–The other day when it was supposed to rain but then only misted, I resolved to be smart and not purchase the beautiful umbrella-of-my-dreams. Accordingly, I looked everywhere for my cheap ugly I-hate-my-life umbrella. I had seen it the day before behind my yoga mat, which was sitting rather forlornly beside the couch, telling me it missed me, and I could not find that umbrella anywhere. I searched everwhere. I searched in the closet. I searched in the basement. I searched in the laundry room. I even searched under the couch. The nasty umbrella inexplicably disappeared, therefore it was obviously fated that I ought to start exploring alternate umbrella options.

2–At Target the other day I saw an umbrella similar in design to my second choice umbrella for $15 dollars (half the price of the divinely-inspired umbrella) and the umbrella just looked so cheap. The construction was shoddy, the water repellent material was so thin as to be almost transparent, and the “wood-finish” handle made me realize that I would be too embarrassed to carry any umbrella of similar caliber.

3–Yesterday I sighed about the umbrella, thinking that it was just more money than I ought to spend on something like an umbrella. Not more than a minute later, I spilled water all over my mother’s choir music on accident. I’m not saying the umbrella could have prevented this, but I do think that it was another one of the universe’s nudges telling me, “It’s ok to love yourself a little…”

4–For the longest time I’ve wanted giant sunglasses. I used to think that I looked like an unfortunate insect in them, and I think this was due to two facts. 1–I was rather overweight so my cheecks bugged out under the glasses in an unpleasant way. 2–It is just within the last couple of years that large sunglasses started coming out in lots of different styles to complement different facial structures. So, while at Target, I went ahead and took the plunge. The glasses were $15 but they make me feel like a million bucks. Totally justified.


I felt absolutely zero guilt after dropping fifteen dollars on giant glasses. It definitely rains twice as much as it is sunny, here in WA, so a tool to protect me from the rain is worth twice the price of a sun-blocker. Right? Right!

To all of you who are shaking your heads in disappointment or whispering “I knew she wouldn’t listen” or even thinking “She’s not a REAL Washingtonian, WE never use umbrellas” I will say only this:

–When I walk by you, perfectly dry, and extremely happy even in the midst of a downpour; I will refrain myself from turning to you and saying “I told you so.” Also, I’ve never really fit into western WA. My tastes, my hobbies, my flair for fashion, my theatricality–telling me I’m not a true Washingtonian (even though I’ve lived here my whole life) is kind of a complement. I love the geographical setting here, but in many places the cultural setting is not what I would prefer.

So yes, dear friends, I have put in an order on Amazon (my favorite online retailer) and someday soon I will be coming to school with a brilliant blue “Tiffany” umbrella by Leighton.

Have a lovely evening!



P.S. This book is really wet.

4 thoughts on “Splash…Crash…oops…

  1. Yep, I was totally charmed by your neutral reaction to a book being completely destroyed.

    And yay to the umbrella purchase.

    And, I hate to say this, but I am really rubbing off on you…look at you justifying those purchases!

    • I just figure that people aren’t disappointed in you for your purchases so I might as well win them over with logic too.
      I don’t think I will be adopting this as a life-method, but it worked in the instance of the umbrella.

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