When the embers of a special event are dying, I find it wonderful to sit in their glow with the family and recount fond memories. I hope you have evenings that resolve in this manner. I am not overly sentimental, but I adore hearing my girls laugh at scenes they pull from the recesses of their minds. Sometimes I remember them from my own point of view, but many times I have no recollection of them at all.
So it was that we sat on the evening of my eldest’s graduation from high school talking about the good old days. They willingly lay down their electronic devices to discuss vacations, birthdays, special times around the home, and many other things past that held a luster for them. I mostly listened as they took turns – at times I was a minor character in their stories and sometimes I had main stage. So contented and relaxed, I felt like a player in a Dickensian novel with my shoes kicked off and feet resting warmly on the fender.
My interest was piqued when the graduate took the floor with what she described as her first memory. I, unfortunately, held the title role for that one. To set the stage for her recollection: it took place on the second floor of our previous house. She was a toddler, mother was away, and I was watching her. It seems she walked into the hallway to see me relieving myself in the bathroom at the other end of the hall. The next thing she remembered, she fell down the stairs, bumped her head, and I ran to help her. That is all her mind retains. No resolution. No happy ending. No idea if I pulled up my pants before valiantly diving to catch her at the bottom of the stairs.
I started to dispute this as poppycock until I realized it actually sounded quite plausible. With the stern admonition from her protective mother to watch her like a hawk, I can absolutely believe that I left the door open when I peed. I mean, I can’t leave her alone even when nature calls, right? I wouldn’t think it would adversely affect a two year old to see that from the back…unless she remembers it forever.
To my horror, this nugget set of a volley of stories about times they had stumbled upon me peeing with the door open. Some were old, some were far too recent. I promise, I’m not an exhibitionist. I simply fail to consider all of the viewing angles that mirrors give. I also forget how mobile my family members are and the sheer number of them – all female. While most of the time, they insist I am guilty of leaving the door open, they would have to admit that the door to our bedroom is one they feel free to open without knocking at any hour. You don’t knock, you get what’s inside! That’s my motto.
I also subscribe to the belief that one of the best things about being a guy is that The World is Your Bathroom. That sounds so cavemanish and outdoorsy, I really like the thought. My girls chuckle when I say stuff like that…but still wish I would learn to close the bathroom door.
16 thoughts on “The World is Your…bathroom?”
Sounds just like my husband he doesn’t close the bathroom door much either lol
Guys! What to do?
Lol definitely a guy thing 😀
“When the embers of a special event are dying” … to … “The World is Your Bathroom” in less than 600 words!
A very special transition, don’t you think…
My kind of transition! 🙂
Ah. And, I am the only female in a house full of man-boys. The noises and, um, fragrances that I am forced to endure are certainly uncalled for…
Your story made me chuckle, as some of my most ingrained memories are of unfortunate glimpses of some of my friends’ parents who apparently forgot they had house guests in the middle of the night!
I am very careful when I know other teenage girls are in the house. Very careful. But I let my hair down (as it were) when it’s just us.
Fragrances are never uncalled for. My daughter’s doctor has said, ‘gas is good’ which is another life mantra. I am sure there will be a post on that sage piece of advice.
Well. If you need help with “descriptives” for that post, I have plenty…19 years worth.
so funny and you are right i even have little guys on the playground trying to pee through the fence, and say, ‘what? i do this in my yard all of the time!’
Exactly. It is the male prerogative.mi think we are born with it.
I have been scarred by open doors, too, only it was not me but mom and sisters and open doors.
Scars heal. Be free, my friend! Open the doors.
I re-read this tonight because I had forgotten that I wanted the “girls” in the house to read it. I’ve heard, more than I care to, “Must be an OLD thing”. Well all jokes aside. The World is my Bathroom. Read 🙂 🙂
Glad you enjoyed. I think it is a guy thing, age doesn’t matter. (I guess)