Rural Living

Margo Oxendine

This happened about a year ago, but I found myself telling the tale again just yesterday. It is a story that always elicits laughter … at my expense. As is often the case, the joke’s on me.

About four years ago, I decided to do something I’d been desperate to do: Remodel an ugly 1970s bathroom. If it is possible to detest a bathroom, I truly detested this one.

There was a cracked acrylic tub and shower, with a plastic “surround.” It was ghastly. Just like the awful fixtures. The floor was covered with dingy orange-and-brown linoleum. If I have two least- favorite colors, they are orange and brown. I own nothing that is orange. Or brown. I am a turquoise, pink and lavender girl.

The bathroom walls sported this icky wallpaper. It was beige and baby blue. While I adore turquoise and aqua, I do not like baby blue. And beige? Whoever cites beige as their favorite color?

When my dear mother was alive, this was her bathroom. I avoided entering the ugly place unless it was absolutely necessary.

But dear Mom is gone. I often wonder what she would think of the changes I’ve made to her house. First off, I had the ugly orange-and-brown linoleum ripped off the kitchen floor, and replaced it with black-and-white checkerboard tiles.

Then, I painted everything pink and turquoise. I even had an artist paint the useless big vent over the stove white, and then create a tropical scene, complete with palm trees and flamingos. It is quite the conversation piece.

So: It was time to do much the same to Mom’s old bathroom. I cannot break away from the tropical themes and colors I embraced while living in Key West.

I haven’t been back to the island in years, but that doesn’t stop me from painting everything in sight turquoise or pink, and then festooning it with flamingos, shells and palm trees. It makes me happy. I guess, like my old friend Jimmy Buffett, “I’ve got a Caribbean soul I can barely control.”

I hired a contractor who charged an hourly rate, and spent much of it talking. He estimated the bathroom re-do would take two weeks. As it turned out, I spent six weeks with a toilet sitting in the middle of my living room floor.

He expertly re-glazed an old bathtub that had for years been a cattle trough. I now had a pale pink claw-foot tub — my dream! I had him paint the walls a warm sand color, and aqua, with touches of pale pink to match the tub. The floor was re-tiled in black and white. I hung a bunch of tropical art in there — flamingos, parrots, palm trees — and scattered some Sanibel shells around. Voila! My dream bathroom awaited!

I took many wonderful bubble baths in my pale pink tub. I’d lounge in there for hours. But then, my knees began to go. The last time I lolled around in my tub, about 10:30 at night, I discovered I could not get out of the thing. My knees would not bend enough to do it. Thus, I was stuck in my dream bathtub. Naked. Late at night.

What to do? Call the rescue squad for extrication? I had a phone handy, and considered that. Bad idea. Did I really want a team of local folks tramping into my bathroom and hauling my naked keister out of the tub? Imagine the stories they would tell!

I considered my neighbors. One is a close friend and reporter colleague. Our closeness aside, I didn’t think this was something he wanted any part of. Another — a woman — was probably strong enough to do it, and has a sense of humor. Yet, she was recuperating from illness. I considered calling a friend or two who live close by, but they are slim girls who just didn’t seem up to the task.

I sat there until the water cooled, and then said, OK. It’s going to hurt something awful. You’re going to scream. But, you must do it yourself. And I did.

It hurt something awful. I did scream. And, I haven’t been back in my dream tub since.

My second knee was replaced in mid-March. I am on the mend. I yearn to walk in the woods again. But, I especially yearn to take a bubble bath. And then hop out of my dream tub.