Once again, Mrs. R. told the family that the sink was filthy, that it couldn't be that she took a shower and didn't remove the hairs from the toilet seat, that the toilet bowl was disgusting, like the one in a cheap boarding house, which couldn't be. And her children and husband, once again, promised they would clean it (on Saturday, as they're very tired during the week). On Sunday, Mrs. R. sent a photo of the filth—enlarged—to the family chat. Today, having abandoned all hope, she comes home from work (she works as a proofreader in a publishing house) and sits down.
The toilet lid, which is a bit of a game, is dirty under the snails. Inside the bowl, there are some sort of yellowish waterfalls from the water running down and, because of the limescale, they jump. It's going to be hard to get rid of. There's also a brownish tinge underneath. On the lid, on the underside, are splashes from the brush. The hairs, dried, are there, on the toilet seat.
She drops the scrubber on the floor and pours a squirt of detergent into the bowl, like in the commercials. But she hadn't read that it's ammonia, and, crouching down as she is, the smell of toxic gas makes her head snap back. Her glasses, due to the violent gesture, fall into the water. Weaving, and still without thinking, with teary eyes, she puts her hand in there to pick them up. When she pulls them out, her hand is red and boiling.
She gets up, as best she can, to wash it. But she trips over the scrubber on the floor and, fumbling, falls on her butt, like a tragic clown, into the bathtub. Her butt hits the faucet and her head, which, due to the impact, turns on. The shower water soaks her completely and, yes, dilutes the blood in her eyelet, which flows and flows without stopping. She thinks she'll be able to get up with a squeal! The water, at first, was cold, but now it's stinging. She turns it off, hastily, and there she stays. First she crushes tears. Then, she crushes laughter.
She can't tell her family what happened; they'll call her clumsy. But not like the clumsy ones in the movies, where everyone, especially he, laughs at her jokes, shaking her head, she's so charming. Like in the clumsy situations of real life, where everyone puts on a face It seems unbelievable and reproaches him, with an angry face, for doing so. No, no, he can't explain it. What he must do, before they arrive, is clean up the blood.
