As long as I can remember, the front bathroom in my
grandmother’s house on 22nd Avenue in Hattiesburg, which shared an
alley with the Gold Post Restaurant, not one mile to the east of the campus of USM,
had been decorated the same way since I was a baby. Her house was probably built back in the
1930’s and was of a Mediterranean style with a red clay tile roof and a beige, actual
stucco exterior. There were 10’ ceilings
throughout most of the house and a 12’ ceiling in the living room. Every finish in that old house was all-natural;
be it the heart pine floors, the old English red brick fireplace, or the
different stucco finishes on the walls and the ceilings. Grandmother had moved to that house in 1965
after my father sold their old family home on Hardy Street, directly across the
street from the entrance to the university, to build Burgertown on the
property; a drive-in restaurant with indoor seating and the first drive-up
window in the Southeastern United States.
The bathroom in the front of the house was finished with 2”x4” white
tiles from the floor up the walls to about three feet from the ceiling. There were 4”x4” matching white tiles on the
floors and all of the fixtures, a classic pedestal sink, a cast iron tub
(though not a clawfoot, was very large and rounded just the same), and a short,
round bowled water closet that were all of the same bright white porcelain
finish as the tiles. Though the shower spigot
above the tub was added later and had separate controls for the water, they
were white porcelain cross handles, the same as the other faucets as the tub
controls and the ones on the sink. There
was a nook for a small white dressing table to the left of the sink and two
very ornate, old-gold scalloped framed oval mirrors; one over the table and one
over the sink.
All of the other usual bathroom trappings that are used to
accessorize a bathroom were present, as well.
While today, I am certainly not a fan of those old shag carpet bath
mats, I was grateful for those three olive-green shaggy mats she put down on
the floor, as they kept my feet from touching the cold floor tiles, as I waited
what seemed an eternity for the eventual scalding hot water to flow from one of
the faucets in the tub. And in keeping
with the theory that more-is-better, we were blessed with a coordinating shag
carpet toilet seat cover and a shag carpet toilet lid cover. It was the contrast of a white plastic
container on the green-carpeted lid on the back of the water closet that caught
my attention. It was 1995 and
grandmother’s sister, my old-maid aunt, Floy Smith, who had been a 25 plus-year
missionary to the Philippines after serving for 10 years as a school teacher
for the US Military in Manila, had moved home to retire and was living with my
grandmother.
Having spent so much time in the Far East, Aunt Floy had
quite a collection of furnishings, art, decorations, and nick-knacks with an
Oriental theme. While grandmother was
quite easy going and not bothered by too much, Aunt Floy had “redecorated” my
grandmother’s classically appointed house with many of these things that had
adorned the walls and floors of her house in Baguio, the Philippines. The only room that seemed to be “off limits”
to Aunt Floy’s whims was that front bathroom.
We never knew if it were grandmother’s absolute rule (though highly
unlikely, considering her unimposing demeanor being exactly the opposite of that
of Aunt Floy, my dad, or myself) or if was just the fact that there was really
no place to add any of the embellishments, usually reserved for the likes of an
Oriental brothel or a Chinese Buffet.
Because of the “rule,” one always knew that he or she could
go into that front bathroom and do their appropriate deed without fear of being
watched by an extremely white faced geisha, half-bowing to the left, as she
held an opened fan in her ghostly hands or grimaced at by some tubby round
semblance of Buddha, only a slight bit less scary than the samurai warrior statues,
who must have been related to the “Chucky” dolls of horror film genre. But it was on a fall weekend afternoon in
1995, when Aunt Floy had gone to give one of her many lectures at the college
about her experiences abroad, did Vicki and I sneak over to visit
Grandmother. We were going to be there
only time enough for a quick visit and “coffee and a piece of pie,” then we
would make a hasty retreat back to our apartment, before the orator returned
home from her speaking engagement. I
had said my goodbyes and was going to quickly run to the front bathroom, south
of the carved mahogany screen in the den, right of the oversized Oriental trunk
that stuck out past the short wall by the door, and past the mammoth white and
gold plaster, bejeweled elephant end-table, that in no way shape or form,
matched the original large leather wing-back chair that stood out like one
healthy tooth, in a mouthful of cavities.
When I finally passed through the Filipino Open-air market
and closed the door to the bathroom, something was different from my memories
of 27 years of using this facility.
Sticking out like a whore in church, right atop the shaggy, fuzzy,
olive-green cover of the water closet lid was a stark white plastic rectangular
box, with a popup lid in the middle of the top.
I stared for a moment and wondered what horrifying, far eastern deity
was going to spring forth from the container and render me immobile, as its
counterparts from the den came in and turned me into human sushi. After a moment I realized that the small box
was made of plastic; not some foreign exotic wood or woven bamboo. My curiosity got the best of me as my heart
rate once again, fell to within an acceptable range and I popped open the
top. Arising from a long pliable slit in
the thin bottom layer of the top of the plastic container that ran the length
of the popup lid, was what has become to me, the eighth wonder of the world: a
pre-moistened towelette, infused with the soothing goodness that is aloe vera,
for personal hygiene use.
While I had been familiar with WetOnes as a child, the
individually packaged towelette accompanying a plate of barbecued ribs, and
even Baby Wipes, as Nolon Ray’s diaper changes could sometimes be a worthy
opponent; I marveled at the thought of the use of a “Baby Wipe...for an adult?” I immediately recalled the communal thrones
with no stalls in the Biloxi High School Field House, tamed by periodical
bearing coaches and players alike; the misspent weekend nights in college, when
the evening’s debauchery often ended with a trip to Krystal or some unsuspecting
Waffle House, for something, anything, covered with onions, extra cheese,
peppers and chili; and even the occasional set-to with a family sized box of
spicy chicken from Popeye’s and a large order of onion rings. Yes, I was clearly in the presence of the
brainchild of some unnamed genius, who in his infinite wisdom had made it
possible for anyone wishing to punish themselves with the after effects of deep
fried, dairy burdened, bingeing personal chastisement, could again return to a
much fresher and less punishing form of moisturized cleanliness than before the
battle began.
So as my appreciation for this marvelous lotion laden
papyrus has grown over these past 19 years, so have the numerous uses for this
magical, hygienic tool. As I have
mentioned before, having been handed the “Errant, Clothes-Staining Food
Particle ‘Curse’,” passed from my grandmother to my dad then on to me, these
damp blessings make for a fantastic spot remover, eradicating tomato tainted
food stains and coffee spots from clothing.
Having budding artists in our household has also made the power of the
moist towelette an unbeatable foe to many a permanent marker doodle, oft found
on tables, doors and walls of our home.
Finally as I have found myself, once again donning the highly polished leather
pair dress shoes for my new position, a baby wipe is the perfect counterstrike
for dulling scuff marks, that would normally leave the wearer in search of an
old school barber shop or bus depot with a skilled, but costly shine man, to
reapply a durable shine. With all of
these extra benefits afforded me by such an ingenious creation, not to mention
the superlative job they do as there primary task, I would like to thank the
memory of a retired missionary to the Philippines for recognizing the benefits
of a chance purchase of a relatively unknown product, next to Charmin in
HBA. If it weren’t for her, I would have
missed many years of using such an innovative product that leaves my skin oh, so
kissably soft and smooth.
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