In an effort to begin the moving-out process, I decided to tackle my bathroom. A certain person who shared the apartment with us when I first moved to Chicago painted the bathroom before I arrived. But not in a usual “let’s paint a bathroom” way. She painted the exact opposite of what any normal person would paint. The walls remain white, but the molding around the door, the light switch and electrical outlet plates, the door to the metal medicine cabinet, and the metal air vent are all a very deep red. I’ve always hated it.
Using my trusty Swiss Army knife (is there anything they cannot do?) I have begun scraping off the layers of red. I am almost tempted to start talking to her again, just so that I can stop in some sort of grand dramatic gesture. Maybe throw a couple of “why God why?!”s in there. Weep openly. Something like that.