“The Comb Incident”
I am a 30 year old Asian Indian born and raised in the US by two very Indian parents. Due to a series of unfortunate events, my father has come to live with me. Let me start off by saying that I love my dad, but our cultural differences put us (me more than him) at crossroads. These writings are some of those differences.
I am a creature of habit in my personal life. I like things a certain way. When I get ready for bed I do the same things every day in the bathroom. It is more out of necessity because like most Indians out there, I have terrible eyes can’t see worth a $hiT without my glasses. When I get ready for bed, I take out my contacts and wash my face. I have everything placed at an arm’s reach in the cabinet above my toilet so that I don’t need to be able to see to get to them. The first time this routine became a problem was a couple of weeks after my dad moved in. Mind you, I’ve lived here for 6 years, with various different roommates and guest passing through. Never have I had a problem.
I took out my contacts. I wet my face. I reached for the face wash. Ker plunk! What the $hiT was that? I scramble to put my glasses on my dripping face. In the toilet was my dad’s comb. I hate fishing! I carve out some space and put the comb away from the stuff I use when I’m blind as a bat. I decided not to say anything since it was midnight and my dad has been sleeping for 4 hours already.
The next night, same routine. Take out my contacts. Wet my face. Reach for the face wash. Clank! WTF NOW! I rush to put my glasses on as water is blurring my vision. On the ground is my dad’s toothbrush. I just groan. What’s worse, a toothbrush falling in the toilet or around the toilet in a male household? I question to myself as to why the toothbrush was even there, when there is a toothbrush holder on the sink. I make note of telling my dad to use a dedicated spot next morning. I’m not a morning person.
The next night, not the same routine. I open up the cabinet and check for booby traps waiting for me. My path was free and clear. Success and I forgot to mention anything to my dad! A worry free face wash. I tell my dad thanks in the morning for moving this stuff around. He sips his tea and smiles.
The next night, original routine. Take out contacts. Wet my face. Reach for the face wash. Ker plunk!
Oh holy hell.
I put my glasses on and in the toilet is a comb. My dad’s comb. Not the comb he originally had. A new comb. Bright red staring at me from under the water.
I give up.
My life isn’t what is used to be…. Sigh.
By “Indian Jones”
