There is a hammerhead shark in my bathroom sink.
He is 2 inches long and made of plastic, but that didn't make him any less startling when I turned on the light and went to wash my hands. He seemed quite happy in the 3 inches of water in his tiny pool. A little lonely, maybe, but that won't last long. I'm sure he'll soon be joined by other ocean dwellers. I couldn't bear to let out the water to wash my hands and I didn't want to poison him with soap, so I turned off the light and went to the kitchen sink instead. And so Mr. Hammerhead stayed there for the rest of the night and into the next morning, when sadly all the water had slowly drained out of the sink and he was left lying on the bottom.
Yes, I was a little startled by such a sight in the sink, but not surprised. You see, I live with two little boys and you never know what you might find and where you might find it. In pockets, under couch cushions, in tubs and sinks and toilets (don't ask). Even under pillows and rugs or at the bottom of the washer or dryer. I've found coins and rubber bands and candy and gum and animals (plastic and real) and tiny little pencils with no erasers. After trips to my parents' house I've found pockets full of nuts and bolts and wires and tools and creations made with such treasures. After trips to the beach I've found rocks and sticks and sand and UBOs (unidentified beach objects). In the spring and summer there seems to be a never ending jar or bug box full of creatures of some kind sitting on tables around the house. And don't get me started on rock collections and leaf collections and stick collections and candy wrapper collections.
After 8 1/2 years, I've pretty much gotten used to the unknown findings in my life. That is at least until the boys become teenagers. Then I'm afraid I'm in for a whole new set of unknowns. But until then not much can surprise me. Not even a hammerhead shark in the bathroom sink.