*the good, the bath, and the ugly.

Hello, everyone. How are you feeling today? Have you had lunch? Was it recently? Would you be opposed to seeing it again? Because I am about to show you something that is only for the strong of stomach.

Really, I cannot stress this enough. If you are newly pregnant, or experiencing flu-like symptoms, or consider yourself to have the hygiene habits of a normal human being, you might want to navigate away at this point.

Go ahead, you won't hurt my feelings.

For the rest of you masochists, welcome to the horror that is the Woodside's only bathroom:



ACK! I'm tremendously sorry that you had to see that. It scared me, and I live here.

To be fair, when I moved in JB did a terrific job covering up the patchy tile with rugs, covering up the shady tub with a thick curtain, covering up the blood-red walls with wallpaper, and covering up the general hideousness by depriving the room of overhead light, so this—now that the floorcovering has been removed and bare-bulb lighting has been introduced—is a somewhat stark contrast to what the past few years of visitors have had to contend with. That, or the visitors have been some combination of polite and struck dumb with horror.



HOWEVER. JB is also responsible for a whimsical tear at the peel-and-stick flooring, which he decided in a flight of giddy craziness to remove one day. After which point he took a look at the sticky residue and said, "I'm outta here."

I was on my knees for DAYS scrubbing the glue off the tile. Just me, and the adhesive remover, and the fumes, and my tears. Unfortunately, the Woodside's former owner was having a torrid affair with someone from the glue company, and as such had used untold amounts of it to get the linoleum (but it looks like faux marble!) to stick.

Eventually, I gave up. And in those places where the sticky was content to stay on the floor, dirt happily gathered.



Unfortunately, a dirt floor wasn't the direction I was going for, but good news! TwinFin says one good long shower could put the whole tub into the crawlspace at any time.

I believe that he took a swift look at where the tub meets the floor and asked, "Is that daylight?"



As there is no daylight under my house, I presume this is architect-speak for "Is that failing plumbing and camel crickets and standing water?"

SO.

After a long talk, considering options like structural overhaul and foreclosure and arson, it has been determined that I will step lightly in the tub until such time as funds become available, praying each morning that burly firemen don't have to come pull naked K out of the rubble.

In the meantime, the mother and I will stick to our original cosmetic changes plan, throwing caution to the wind about things like paint longevity knowing that the whole 35 square feet probably needs to be condemned.



Or, as I told her last night after the first coat of paint went on the tile, "I think it's looking pretty good, considering that the bar has been set at 'it's still above ground.'"

Tonight the second coat of paint goes on the tile. There are plans for a new toilet, LOTS of caulking, lighting solutions, and ohmygodplease painting the floor. Because when I looked at this picture, I thought,



"It is shameful the way we treat our homeless."