this post contains potty humor.
But most of my posts containt potty humor. . . so. . . nothin' new here.
Maybe this is a good time to tell you that my family likes to joke, that when we sit down to chat (which is like, all the time-- we are chatty people), the conversation always, always turns to poo.
We like to point fingers. Blame it on each other. Truth is, it just happens (it's YOU, Monique!!!).
Now that my bafroom is free of nersty carpet, the mirror is framed, and the holy light bars are removed-- in short,
it's no longer the pit of despair. ("The pit of despair. . .don't even think of. . . *cough cough* . .. don't even think of trying to escape.")
I felt it finally deserved something more.
(you can see a Blu-ray peeking out up there. Judge me. It's "Breaking Dawn", or as the hubs calls it: "Breaking The Bed.")
Yes, the door to my new-ish water closet needs, nay, deserves, a classier look. Like all the other doors up here,
it got my little door molding treatment.
Down came that freaky, totally non-working clock, (it was like, thee first purchase I made for my house. Please say you bought things at first when you had no idea what you wanted and now, you're left scratching your head, going "wha. . . ?")
and up went that 1 x 8, some crown, and some paint.
But that's not all, friends. No-ho. Remember when I tole ya that my bedroom numbers started on #2? Just out of laziness?
One of my bestest bloggy buddies, Teri, suggested that my bathroom door should say. . . and I quote:
"But shouldn't the bathroom say "Number 1 AND 2"? Hehe."
(or. . . if in the case of my poor grandmother, #3. But we won't talk about that.)
And it was then that I knew I was going to do just that.
You're a genius, Teri.
Olive it. Potty humor just never gets old.