Tales of a First-Time Home Buyer: The Mystery Carpet Stain

Something horrible happened last week. We found a mystery stain on our carpet. We have only been living in the house since June 5th. Up until this point, our house has still remained in immaculate condition; as clean and pristine as the day we signed on the dotted line.

There have been a few close calls: a bumped glass of red wine that my lighting quick reflexes allowed me to grab as it teetered on the precipice of spilling, a nicked corner as we moved a table from upstairs to downstairs, a dirty hand print on the wall after a couple hours of shooting hoops with the fellas…

But then one day we saw it. A dark spot on the carpet right in front of the couch in the family room. I saw it first. I had no idea where it came from but I knew it was probably me. It was early in the morning before work, my wife hadn’t come downstairs yet. I grabbed a wet paper towel and dropped to all fours, scrubbing furiously. Nothing. I put a little dish soap on it and scrubbed some more. Nothing. Then I heard her making her way downstairs; I balled up the paper towel and fled the scene. And I fled exactly the way you are picturing it in your head: I ran.

She didn’t notice it right at first; she hadn’t had her coffee yet. We both went to work. When I got home from work, I moved the table a little closer to the couch; maybe she’ll never notice I thought to myself. But I knew better. She got home and we had dinner. After dinner, we were cleaning up, and she moved the table a little. “What is this?” she asked rhetorically, but I blurted out, “I don’t know,” faster than I should have. “This stain… how did this happen?” I said I don’t know again, which is the God’s honest truth. We talked about it for a while, trying to figure out what caused it. We had no idea.

A few days went by and then something else horrible happened: I saw another one right in the hallway between the kitchen and dining room. And another… and another… and another. They looked like footsteps… Footsteps from the kitchen… to the liquor cabinet! Crap. I’m a dead man. Then I remembered exactly what happened. I have black flip flops, and I wear them around the house like house shoes. When they get wet, the black color rubs onto my feet and makes the bottom of my feet a little black. I went running that day right after work, took a shower, and then I wanted to have a drink with dinner… I kicked off the flip flops and walked to the cabinet to pour my drink… That had to be it!

I scrubbed. I washed. I fretted. Nothing could get the stain(s) up. I sulked. I waited. “Oh my God! Another one! What is causing these?” she was mad. I just shrugged my shoulders. “I have no idea.” I was so afraid. “We’ll get some carpet cleaner, it’ll come right up. Don’t worry about it.” She looked really mad. “I just want to know what’s causing these so we can stop doing whatever it is!” she said not-so-calmly. All I could muster is, “It’ll come right up.”

The next day I was out in the back watering the grass. I didn’t want to come in and step on the carpet with my wet flip flops, so I kicked them off. I walked to the laundry room to throw another load in. As soon as I came out I froze like Medusa was staring me down. I did it again. I had no other choice. I put my flip flops back on and didn’t even say a word, I grabbed my keys and went straight to the store to buy some carpet cleaner. I came back and started scrubbing the spots. I was lucky that they came right up. My wife came downstairs and caught me. “I think I found out what is causing the spots,” I said, and I told her.

Now I’m not allowed to wear my flip flops anymore. Oh well. At least it wasn’t permanent damage. The cause of the mystery stain had been revealed; and neither of us was shocked that it was my fault. A few days later we were chatting and I let it slip that I knew what caused it once I saw the second stain. “You knew?” she said with narrow eyes. “You knew and you didn’t tell me?” I had the best possible retort to her question: “Would you?” Her face softened. “You’re a smart one, Picard,” she said. “I wouldn’t have told me either.” And without saying anything else, we both knew I would never let it happen again.