Sharing a bathroom with boys is at best icky, and sometimes can be downright disgusting, but that’s actually not what I’m complaining about today. As a dilemma, this is more exasperating than fury-inducing; however, it happens on a weekly basis and so it deserves mention.
I am not a morning person. But because I am forced to wake up and drag myself out of bed at an ungodly hour five days a week for work, I have somehow established a routine that makes mornings a little less excruciating. This routine has become crucial to getting my day off to a good (or at least less miserable) start. I wonder if you can plead “Not A Morning Person” in court? There are several things that can cause my mornings to de-rail: accidently sleeping in, having no milk for my cereal, running out of coffee, opening up the laptop to find that somebody has left it unplugged all night and now the battery is dead. But the absolute worst is not having the bathroom to myself.
Have you seen the Family Guy where Lois and Peter both wake up and then right away start brawling over who gets their morning poop first? I couldn’t find a clip to attach here. It is both hilarious and the absolute truth. That being said, I am a very private pooper. I cannot poop in public and will go to great length to avoid this. Fortunately, I poop at the same time every day. Approximately 10 -15 min after I wake up. Unfortunately, so does The Hubby. If The Hubby wakes up at the same time I do, the entire morning routine is shot.
Our bathroom is about the size of a small closet. There is hardly room for elbows. There is definitely not room for two. Also, THERE IS NO FAN, no window, no ventilation of any sort. With no ventilation, its like a sauna in there after a hot shower. All this means is that I cannot do all the things I need to do to get ready for work in the bathroom. I must enter and exit the bathroom several times in the course of toweling off, moisturizing, getting dressed, doing my hair, applying make-up, adding deodorant and perfume and general last-minute touch-ups.
If I make him wait while I monopolize the bathroom to get ready for work, I have to hear him huffing and puffing and groaning out in the living room. If I let him use the bathroom first while I wait, I have to get ready for work in a hot stinky closet. If he’s up, there’s no way I could poop first, knowing he’s out there waiting for his turn. If I let him poop first, there’s no way I would be able to go afterwards. If I don’t get my morning poop, I’ll spend the rest of the day feeling like I’ve been gypped.
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