Remember how I complained about snow in my last post? Forget about that, I’m now fully immersed in the Florida summer and quickly turning into a melted puddle Wicked Witch of the West (or was it East?) style. To put it simply – I’m melting!! Melting!!
Now don’t get me wrong, I am actually quite fond of being warm. I will suffer through months of schvitzing in 100% humidity and consider it a vastly superior choice to spending any time at all in sub-70-degree temperatures. That’s how much I dislike being even slightly chilly. However, with Orlando’s hottest months still on the horizon I can’t help but feel a little silly saying that this week I’m more overheated than I really should be at this point in April. There are numerous factors that have led to me feeling this way (not the least of which is that I spent a good portion of the day today out in the blazing sun and came home looking redder than most any crustacean I’ve ever seen), but even as I rub soothing aloe on my crispy fried skin I know that there is one major area of my life that needs to take the blame for my sunstroke – my bathroom.
You might recall the many problems I outlined with my master bathroom, ranging from the useless bathing situation to the in-floor rock garden to the toilet/shower combo and, heck, just last week I even defeated an entire army of flying ants. But beyond all these complications, there is really one problem with my bathroom that overshadows all these (small in comparison) conundrums, and that would be the windows. I know what you’re thinking – don’t you want natural sunlight in your bathroom? And the answer is “yes.” However, in our master bath there is sunlight to spare. Several giant windows consume one section of the bathroom, flooding in light from floor to ceiling and, well, it can get bright. Like so bright that you can’t look directly at the mirror without fear of your retinas burning right out of your skull. And, even worse, all that sunlight makes it hot. No, not merely hot. It’s sitting inside a greenhouse on the surface of the sun hot. Add to that my normal beauty routine – blow dryers and scorching hair straighteners – and soon my face is dripping off into the sink like a wilted clock in a Dali painting.
During the winter I almost forget how bad it gets. The tile floor is cool on my feet and the sun coming in, while still toasty, is a welcome reminder of why I love living in Florida during the arctic months. But after I spring forward on my clocks it seems that the sun in now in just the perfect position to torment me through the windows as I prepare for work. Getting my makeup to stick onto my melting flesh becomes difficult and I need to take numerous breaks while doing my hair (and by “breaks” I mean that I run to the kitchen and shove my head in the freezer … right into the ice bucket whenever possible). Oh sure, I’m guessing the fact that I then put on heavy layers of work appropriate clothing (and by “work appropriate” I really mean “igloo-appropriate” because, if there’s one place I’m not the slightest bit warm, it’s my frigid office), climb into a car with no air conditioning and continue the sweating spree all the way to and from work, doesn’t help the matter. Plus, since we’re in the middle of refinishing the pool I can’t even cool down when I get home again. Oh, and then I like to throw in a nice steamy session in the gym just for added effect.
But no more. Today was officially my last day using the master bathroom (maybe I’ll keep my toothbrush there, but I’m hesitant to even commit to that at this point). I was already showering elsewhere, I guess I’ll just use that bathroom for all my beauty needs now as well. However, if you’re thinking this is an easy decision, think again. I’ve nicknamed our other bathroom “the cave,” and I assure you that the name fits. It’s dark, musty, poorly lit, ensconced in 80s linoleum and contains a few layers of grime I can’t seem to remove without just demolishing the whole place (which I plan to do but, as you might have noticed, I’ve got a few other priorities competing for my attention right now). Plus, if you’re not careful, the soap scum will pile up so thick that GAR has been known to write love messages to me in it (instead of cleaning it, of course, and then I feel bad scrubbing away his disgusting, and yet oddly romantic, sentiments). Nonetheless, applying mascara in a cave has got to be better than watching it drip down my cheeks in an oven … just try not to laugh if the poor lighting in my “new” bathroom means I show up to work having crimped my hair instead of straightened it, or if the eye shadow is piled on so thick I look like Mimi from the “Drew Carey Show.” I am merely a victim of our planet’s orbital path.
Here is my beautiful "cave" where I'll make myself look gorgeous every morning. I feel cooler already.