Broccoli in the Bathtub

There is something arresting about the sight of a tiny broccoli floret in the bathtub.

It is something that so patently does not belong there. An entirely foreign object. Enough so that even I noticed it, and I generally have very little truck with the idea that any given object should be used only for its intended purpose.

I know why it was there, of course. My logic ran thusly.

1. The vegetable bin out of the fridge needs washing out.

2. The vegetable bin is twice as long as the kitchen sink.

3. Trying to balance the bin on the edge of the sink with one hand while scrubbing with the other is inconvenient, annoying, likely to splash water on me, and is quite noisy.

4. The baby is sleeping.

5. The bathtub is much bigger than the sink....

I was right. It was much easier, even given the need to bend right over, to wash the vegetable bin in the bathtub than it is in the kitchen sink. There was hot water on hand, I didn't have to constantly juggle the thing around - it was perfect.

Which got me thinking about how many things I use for purposes not intended by the manufacturor. There was another incident of this only this morning, during a conversation with the Hedgehog, which went something like this.

"I can't find the tea-tree oil." (Said while rooting through the medicine cabinet, which is in the kitchen because there's not enough shelf-space in the bathroom and I see no earthly reason why the medicines should be in the bathroom if it's inconvenient, just because everyone else puts them there) "Are you sure we have any?"

"Look in the bathroom."

"Where?"

"On top of the cabinet. The stuff we wash floors with."

Because I do, in fact, wash the floors with tea-tree oil. It works a treat on lino, as it happens, and I don't like using harsher disinfectants in the house, given that we have pets and any day now a crawling Baby K who will lick the floor on the slightest provocation. But it's not actually meant for the purpose, and the bottle I have is technically the water-soluble medicinal stuff.

I think my tendency to use whatever tool happens to be most convenient comes of spending my early childhood often travelling, often out in the bush far from such civilized amenities as running water, and always short of money. I blame my pack-rat tendencies on the same thing.

And for the record, if you have something too large for the kitchen sink, I highly recommend the bathtub. Fill the thing (not the tub, which is wasteful) with warm water and soap, and off you go.