I have always had a Psycho fear of showering when home alone, but now I’m afraid I’m showering with something, and it is much scarier. About ten months ago we noticed that mold was taking over our bathroom, and the mold has only continued to do what it does: grow and grow. We can no longer ignore its presence and we’re starting to worry that our apartment is actually contagious.

I have been reading about a condition called Sick Building Syndrome (SBS), which is a combination of ailments from a place of residence. (I know Bri, I need to stop Googling symptoms.) BUT I am convinced that we have SBS and that our apartment is in need of a lot of treatments. Our place now needs a doctor, an exterminator and a facelift (this is the Upper East Side, after all). This condition isn’t really a surprise because I guess we get what we pay for, and in NYC we get a quarter of what we pay for.

This mold, however, is not a laughing matter. We have taken action and we had a mold doctor in yesterday to give our bathroom a check-up. The exam seemed pretty routine and we have now officially had our first guest over. I hope we were good hosts, although our bathroom appears to be the hostess with the mostest.

Now we must sit and wait for our lab results, and it’s like watching mold grow. And, actually, I want it to be mold. While I don’t want to have to battle our landlord, stay at a seedy hotel or go through another bout of adventures in apartment hunting, I could maybe give NYC a little slack and I could blame the fungus for my whining and our kennel cough (which will be renamed to studio cough).

If there is, in fact, toxic black mold taking over our apartment, in addition to the general malaise I feel in NYC, I’m going to go ahead and blame the mold for the following:

• Constantly forgetting my keys and ID
• My incredibly non entertaining and poorly written post regarding mold ten months ago
• This post if is incredibly non entertaining
• My inability to grasp whether a period goes inside or outside quotations and parentheses
• That it just took me three minutes to spell parentheses
• Hangovers (and that they have nothing to do with me getting old.)
• My awkward conversations at job interviews
• My increasingly bad dance moves
• Falling off that bench that one night
• Recently asking someone what BBQ stands for
• Repeatedly referring to Khole Kardashian’s husband as Omar Laden
• Feeling the need to keep up with the Kardashians
• MT’s new found interest in keeping up as well