Every few months I am reminded that there is yet another task that somehow manages to highlight my domestic disabilities—changing the shower curtain liner.
This is a task that must be done on a regular basis, lest one plans on growing an assortment of invasive species in their shower. But like putting a new key on a keychain, it’s often complicated by a) the ridiculous metal rings that have to be opened and closed and b) the fact that I’m me.
It starts with the purchase of the $5 vinyl liner from Target, simply because I’m fancy, and then the placement of the packaged liner on the counter for at least two weeks while I muster up the motivation to enter into this bathroom battle.
Once I feel sufficiently motivated and occasionally medicated, I pull out the scissors and cut down the old liner. This saves me the work of opening the ridiculously stubborn hooks for at least a few minutes more.
After the old liner is properly discarded though, the real work begins.
With an air of demented determination, I set out to pinch open the bastard hook things as fast as I can, trying to ward of the agonizingly painful feeling of having to hold up my arms for what feels like at least two or three hours.*
*about 10 minutes
Once the rings are all open and I regain the feeling in my separated shoulders and numb arms, I pat myself on the back—it’s good to recognize small victories—and begin hanging up the new liner.
This is a relatively easy part of the process, what with the rings already open, but it never fails that I step into the shower to hang the thing up and step in one random small droplet of water.
If there’s not a helpline for people who step in small droplets of water with clean socks on while changing the shower curtain liner, there needs to be.
Or I could just remember to take off my socks.
At any rate, once the new liner is hung and a second congratulatory break is taken, I set out to pinch shut the bastard hook things as fast as I can, trying to ward of the agonizingly painful feeling of having to hold up my arms for what feels like at least two or three hours.*
*about two or three minutes
When the last hook is snapped, I can exhale, change my socks and take comfort in the fact that I won’t have to do this again for at least a few months. Unless I did it wrong and missed a hook somewhere along the way, in which case I will cry and have an extra hook hanging around for a bit.
Then again, it’s one less hook left to close.
Latest posts by Abby Heugel (see all)
- The Domestically Disabled Diva: A Motivational Speech for Your Vacuum - October 15, 2014
- The Domestically Disabled Diva: How to Change a Shower Curtain Liner - September 30, 2014