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When DIY becomes a disaster

July 18, 2013
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I come from a household where HGTV being on is the norm. We have busted out walls, refinished furniture and stripped rooms covered in wallpaper, so cleaning a bathroom should be a breeze. Right? Wrong. 

It all started with an innocent social media post on how to make your own bathroom cleaner. The blogger who posted boasted its 'magical' powers and said that after using it you would 'never use store bought cleaner again.' OK, so there wasn't any pixie dust or unicorns on the list of ingredients, but there was baking soda and lemon juice. It seemed legitimate enough. All of the ingredients seemed safe, and what was better was that they were already in the house. With no time to waste, I grabbed the closest to empty spray bottle, rinsed it out and began the experiment. 

Vinegar was the first ingredient. So far, so good. Lemon juice and dish detergent came next, giving it a funky blue color. Next on the list was banking soda. Wait, baking soda and vinegar? The third-grade scientist inside of me knew that this wasn't going to be good. 

Without warning, bubbles started oozing from the bottle. There was no time to read the rest of the blog post, I had to get to the closest sink, and fast. Screw on the nozzle, or leave the nozzle off? What was I supposed to do? Put the nozzle on, that would squish the bubbles. That would work. The bottom of the bottle was starting to expand. It was blowing up like a hot air balloon, and bubbles were escaping out of all the creases. Leaving the nozzle on was not working; there was too much 'magical' power in there. I thought to myself that the blogger was probably halfway across the country somewhere, laughing to herself at the creation of the ultimate prank. 

I sprinted to the bathroom and unleashed the beast. Setting the sprayer to stream, there was no need to squeeze the handle. It was streaming all on its own, at the rate of a fire-hose or a toddler who had drunk too much Kool-aid. There was no stopping it. Suds were getting on everything: the shower, the sink, the floor. Shoot, store brand cleaner may have been more expensive, but at least it wasn't possessed to coat every surface with four inches of foam. Wasn't this in an episode of 'I Love Lucy?' In my attempt at being a domestic diva, I was ending up looking more like Amelia Bedelia. After what seemed like forever, the spray bottle stopped. 

The floor being slippery was an understatement. I slowly inched my way to the bathroom closet, where I grabbed half a dozen towels to sop up the suds. I rinsed the shower repetitively, but it still smelled like salt and vinegar chips. On the upside, it was sparkling. 

You could say the whole experience was almost, well, magical.

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