Oily

When I came home this morning from the boyfriend’s, I walked into a mess.

Half- asleep, I almost didn’t notice it, but Gertie went straight to her water dish and wanted, guess what? Water. I sleepily turned on the faucet and poured water into the special Gertie water pitcher I keep for such a task. When I leaned back from the sink, I noticed my t-shirt (one of my favorites–pink ring neck with a bedazzled tummy Buddah that reads “Buddaful”) was covered in what I thought was water.

What the heck?

I automatically looked up. Clearly my neighbors must have a leak that is seeping water down into my kitchen. Grrrr.

Hmmm…..that’s odd.

Then I realized, with horror, what it was.

Oil.

Canola oil to be precise.

The entire bottle of it.

The bottle that I placed on its side in my cabinet last night to make room for all my other groceries.

Oil, oil everywhere.

This was not good.

An hour and a half of sopping it up with paper towels, mopping on my hands and knees with liquid dish soap and warm water and throwing out msc…oil soaked items (including my toaster — hey, bright side, more counter space!), it’s still not completely gone. But at least I could leave the apartment with Gertie in it and not worry about her safety.

I decided that there was another bright side.

Living alone means that no one can get mad at you when you do really stupid things. It’s kind of nice.

But then again, there’s no one to help you clean up your mess either.

Oh well.