It's big, it's black, and it's in a home near you...

Today, we bring you a special announcement, straight from Megan's apartment:

My worst fear has been brought to light.

Recently, in the past couple of days, I have notice strange spots on the upper part of the wall and ceiling of my shower. A normal person (who is definitely not me) might disregard these spots but I, on the other hand, have much bigger fish to fry. And, today, upon closer inspection of these spots, my worst fears were confirmed.

The Black Mold.

I am to mold as my father is to shoes. When I was younger, my father had this rule that as soon as my sister and I would wear through the tiny piece of fabric that separates your foot from the sole of the shoe, we would have to get new shoes. Now I wait until there are  holes physical appearing somewhere, mainly at the bottom (which would insinuate that, if it rained, water might leak in and soak my feet) until I get new shoes. Rubber is rubber, one piece of fabric isn't going to change that. But my father didn't care. Just as I don't care for mold. Over and over, I used to insist that my mother throw out loaves of bread where the traces of mold might appear. My mother, of course, would throw the moldy piece out, and maybe the once next to it, insisting the bread eatable. I would switch to a different lunch menu and avoid sandwiches until she pulled a new loaf from the freezer. I hate mold. I hate the idea of a living organism growing on my food. I cant stand cheese that still has that weird white moldy outside to it (and people insist that it's AGED and it tastes BETTER, but to heck with them) and the only reason why I allow myself to eat Swiss cheese is because all traces of mold are gone. Call it a character quirk or whatever you will but all I can think of is attacking that black mold. I want it GONE. I want it TO DIE.

So, needless to say, it took all of my nerves to stay in that shower this morning and finish washing the shampoo out of my hair. But, once the last of it was gone, off went the shower and out I flew, away from my biggest terror. Ignoring the fact that if I didn't get to drying my hair, it would look like a 2 year old took a bunch of hair rollers to it in odd angles, I grabbed the first thing I found in my kitchen (multi-purpose cleaner) and set about scrubbing the walls of my shower. Then... was that BROWN MOLD growing on the lip above my shower? I don't think I've ever cleaned the shower so quickly.

You think I'm weird? Black mold is TOXIC! It's a living organism, eating away the paint in your walls and, if you breathe the fumes, you could get sick. You could even DIE. And I, for one, am not about to die because of inhaling black mold. That's what the 60's and 70's were all about.

So now I wait, under cover of darkness, a bottle of multi-purpose cleaner in my hand. It's there. It could be waiting for its next wave of attack. This could just be the beginning.

And I want to be ready.


_____________________________________________________________________________

Note: I just want to let everyone know that I have made an appointment for therapy. I start two Fridays from now and I'm nervous. But I'm going.