Do you have one of these at your house?
This is the “Yuck Bowl”. Originally, it was part of some kind of movie/popcorn promotion at a now-defunct video store where my ex-husband worked a million years ago. It had a blue snap-on lid at one point, long gone. It lives under the kitchen sink, surrounded by rags, bags, catfood, and cleaning stuff. I had reason to pull it out last night, as I needed some help shaving my legs after surgery and needed a nice basin of warm water for the task.
The Yuck Bowl isn’t for tossing up a nice salad, or filling up with popcorn for movie night. We have lots of bowls for those things, too. NO, Yuck Bowl exists only for the basest, grossest tasks. It’s under-appreciated and I’m here to give it a big shout-out.
Yuck Bowl – who saved me countless loads of laundry when the kids had the stomach flu? You did, my friend. Who was there, full to the loving brim with hot soapy water, when Hiep and the kids all got their bare feet covered in dogshit playing football in the backyard on Bolivar Street? You were. Who was there when a teenager’s alcoholic amigo decided it was time to hurl? You were, Yuck Bowl, you were. I sincerely wish you hadn’t still been sitting square in the middle of the living room floor when I got up to go to work the next day, but it is what it is, Yuck Bowl.
You’re battle-scarred, paint-stained and weary. Like the plumbing, we don’t even notice you until something goes horribly wrong. You’re not a Glamour Bowl, or a Rose Bowl. No fine meal will ever be served from you, nor will any meal of any kind.
But damn. You’ve been around for a long time. You’ve paid your damn dues around here.
I love you Yuck Bowl. Namaste.