Fried Rice

I have not cleaned a bathroom in almost four years.  But, new mortgage payment means no more cleaning lady.  Two days ago, I realized it was time to dust off the toilet bowl scrubber and get to work.  I grabbed Justin’s I-POD, popped in my headphones, rocked out to a little Katy Perry in front of the downstairs mirror and started the chores. 

An hour later tragedy struck.  I leaned over to unplug the bathtub drain and felt the IPOD shift from where I had “safely” tucked it into my sports bra strap.  Before I could grab it - plop – full submersion.  I dove in after it as if it were one of my children.

“Remember to put this back where you found it.”  “Please don’t leave it on when you are done using it.”  “Where is the IPOD I gave you?”  Justin’s admonishments raced through my head.  (I have a bad track record with expensive electronic devices - most notably digital cameras.  Last year alone, I dropped one, lost one and fell on top of another one less than 24 hours after we purchased it.) 

But I digress.

After emitting a series of colorful expletives, I quickly turned the IPOD on to see if I had in fact murdered it.  To my surprise, the screen glowed and the music played.  I breathed a sigh of relief and went back in to clean the shower.  When I picked the IPOD up a few minutes later – there was nothing.  Black screen.  I raced downstairs and plugged it into the computer.  Ahhh, success.  The familiar “do not disconnect” prompt popped up and I left it there while I went to pick up the girls. 

Justin and I arrived home about the same time.  I greeted him pleasantly and thought maybe I shouldn’t mention the drowning at all.  I mean, it was working when I left.  

I told him.

He was mortified.  “What?!!  Where is it?  Why were you using it?  Why were you using it over open water?  Your sports bra?  Ughhhh…. !” 

He raced downstairs and there it was, right where I had left it.  “It’s fine,” I said – holding my breath. 

“It’s dead,” he said.   

After researching revival techniques on random blogs he informed me that in the event your IPOD does a reverse one and a half summersault into a tub of water as his had, the worst thing you can do is try and turn it on.  This was second only to plugging it into the computer. 

Based on this information, I had apparently spent the afternoon torturing the IPOD to death.

As a last resort, the blog said to bury the fried IPOD in a bowl of rice.  That’s right - a bowl of rice.  For three days.  Seriously?  Apple hasn’t come up with something better than a bowl of rice…. 

Dinner is served.