Artist nightmare II

We have some people coming over. Actually, I think it might be G's parents; they must be visiting. In the last-minute tidying up, I go into the bathroom. I've been storing a finished painting in the toilet bowl. In the toilet bowl, submerged. It is understood that the painting has been there a while, and that the toilet has been in normal use the whole time. I recognize that it's a rather unusual idea, but it seems such a clever way to save space. And the painting gets washed clean with every flush, so what's to worry about?

I pull the painting out. [It's actually quite a bit larger than would really fit in the toilet; about 20x16, I'd guess.] I notice that the image is quite faded. It isn't as if the paint has been abraded or washed off. It's consistently faded, as though it's been bleached. I also notice that the wooden framework that supports the panel has gone all soft and spongy; at the mitered corners, the veneer pulls away at my touch. It has the texture of wet newspaper or soft putty. I carefully smooth down the corners, open the shower curtain, and lay the painting flat on the dry bottom of the tub. I quickly draw the shower curtain closed and think how the painting will thus be safely stored while, at the same time, no one will even know that it's there. I'll figure out what to do with it later.