I always thought that along with old age came wisdom and dignity. Maybe that is true for some, but not for me.
Instead all I got was a bladder the size of a walnut.
It makes for interesting times.
I am the guy who gets up and takes a quick break during the sermon. I do it twice during movies and let’s not even discuss cross-country flights.
But life has a way of making amends – because along with the autumn of my years came a bathroom of my very own – well sort of.
I have always had to share a bathroom.
I was born the son of a plumber who had eleven children and one bathroom. If that were not bad enough, the majority of those kids were girls. I don’t know what it is about girls and bathrooms but from an early age I learned that a bathroom always has a sister in it. When my wife and I bought our first house, I went to use the bathroom and found one of my sisters using it.
So finally, after all those years of sharing with my sisters, brothers, wife and children, I got a private restroom of my very own. One where I could close the door, lock out the world and not worry about anyone or anything else.
It was a requirement for our retirement home.
The house we found had one bathroom on the main floor and one in the basement. Perfect! Since my wife has bad knees and avoids stairs – it all but guaranteed that I would never have to share.
But before we moved in, we talked to a contractor about remodeling. My wife said that her bathroom needed just a few things, starting with the detonation of a small nuclear device
So as we were planning the remodel, I mentioned that my bathroom in the basement could use updating too.
Our contractor pulled me aside.
“You don’t want to do that,” he said.
“Why not?” I asked naively.
He winked meaningfully and said, “Because if we make it nice, she’s going to want you to keep it nice. Catch my drift?”
I did.
So while she got the walk-in shower, the marble topped sink and the warm tile floor; I got the cracked mirror, the chipped vanity and the toilet seat that drifts south by southwest whenever you sit on it.
Still, it was mine. All mine.
At least it was for a day. The morning after we moved in, my wife handed me the cat litter box and a tub of sand.
“Put these downstairs in your icky bathroom,” she said.
“Why?” I asked, “they are your cats.”
She just gave me her look that told me the discussion was over.
“And remember,” she added, “since you are sharing, always leave the door open.”
So funny! My favorite part about living alone is not having to share the bathroom.
Having lived the first 10 – 12 years in a farmhouse without a bathroom, I can offer no sympathy.
But I will offer my praise for another well-crafted humorous story.
One thing can be said about outside biffs, people rarely linger. 🙂
I share a bath with a kitty, too. I have three words for you: Arm and Hammer. Their baking soda kitty litter is the best. Even my friends will occasionally ask if I got rid of the cat, since there’s no Eau de Kitty in the house. Funny and fun post.
Every little bit helps, the scent from these cats can peal the paint off a wall.
I think you may have come up with a future post here.
Thanks for my laugh of the day! Personally, I think true luxury is not having to share a bathroom with anyone, but it sounds as if you aren’t destined to have that. Still, at least the cats don’t take 40 minute showers! And the probably don’t know how to lock the door either, so you can still get in there when you need to.
You are right about the 40 minute shower – but not about locking the door – these cats demand privacy. 🙂
Brilliant!
So, are you also the on who has to clean the litter box?
Cleaning the litter box has been my job since day one. I wrote about it here
I remember!
This line is classic: “When my wife and I bought our first house, I went to use the bathroom and found one of my sisters using it.”
I have the perfect solution for your bladder problem. Ask Stan. He seems like a solution kind of guy.
I am sure Stan could find a solution but he is a heavy industry sort of guy and I doubt that we could meet his horsepower requirement.
Are you saying that your bladder is not heavy industry?
Needed a good laugh and you certainly did not disappoint me! My husband and I have been going round and round about updating our bathroom. Hopefully I will prevail! 😜
If you decide to go “the small nuclear device” route, I can put you in touch with Stan. He can pretty much get has hands on anything. 🙂
Door open and lid up! Just to make sure.
Always.
Beautifully-written wry humour. A pleasure to read before my 5th visit to the little boy’s room in an hour. OMG! One of your damn sisters is in there!!!
My sisters do get around 🙂
She was impeccably behaved, as I would expect from an American lady, and even gave me a small tip on her way out. That’s a real classy lady in my book and she’s welcome back anytime.
Oh no! I think I should have a word with your wife.
And while you are at it, how about a word with the divine being who ordained that older men would have bladders the size of walnuts. 🙂
Oh I know how you feel. Mine is the size of a peanut. Will include you in my prayers. 🙂
No fair for you! You must be much easier going than my hubs. He doesn’t put up with any nonsense in his bathroom or his closet. Off limits to my shenanigans.
Like a lot of rural relationships, I rule the outbuildings, she rules the house. Since my bathroom is in the house, it falls under her domain. I am thinking of building one in the shed. 🙂
Hmmm the litter box is in my barhroom too. Just earlier today, I got the “Yo – Occupied!” Look as I tried to enter. Now all you can do is hope the cat develops bad knees.
If the cats ever did develop knee problems, you just know who would be tasked with carrying the little darlings up and down the stairs. 🙂
Oh well, nice while it lasted.
As Kurt Vonnegut would say, “and so it goes.”
Nice. Bathroom humor you can share with your pastor, even if he has long sermons.
🙂
You contractor mad a lot of sense up to a point. Meow.
If I had told him about the cats, he could have installed a pet-door. One that leads out to the yard.
Hmmmmm. Coyotes?
Sometimes you eat the bear and sometimes…..
Yeah, I’ve been gnawed on by that grizzly many times.
lmao…darn cats…but who needs a door anyway
I think the idea of a door on the biff began in Minnesota….. one bitterly cold windy winter day.
lmao…i’m dying here…