[This post is dedicated to my pal, Lorrie, who won't even go to the library because she fears a person has taken the book into a bathroom.]
When we moved to our current house, it was a downsized adventure in many ways. In our old home, we had a living room and spacious family room - in our current home, we just have a small, but cozy, living room. In our old home we had a huge kitchen; in our current home, it's more of a galley type kitchen. All these elements were obviously fully visible when we decided to purchase our current home, though we may have been a bit punch drunk with the promise of privacy and a great big flat yard.
What we skimmed over was the lack of a master bathroom and the "bleh" bathroom upstairs.
Unexpectedly, no one wants to use the bathroom upstairs, possibly because the shower is subprime and it has a huge jacuzzi tub meant for a big college football bruiser, as opposed to normal chubby Americans. But, it's a fully working bathroom, folks (actually, I just meant that for my son; no use to be passive-aggressive here...I mean you, son).
Add to this a specific phenomena that occurs daily: using the bathroom like a personal library. Libraryfication of bathroom time is rampant in our house. We all love to read, we all love privacy, and darn it - the light in our downstairs bathroom is just fabulous. Everywhere else...not so much.
Our in-demand downstairs bathroom has taken on a new persona; it's so much more than a bathroom now. The image of someone reading with pants around the ankles has caused me to refer to it as The Half Naked Library. Singing in the shower has resulted in my son and I referring to taking a shower as laying down tracks in The Naked Sound Booth. Don't laugh; I'm in the top ten there. I totally own it. Even Coco, The Wonder Poodle, will push the door open and join you, if you do not totally close the door. You've been warned, future guests.
It's a magical place where everyone wants to go to not go. And if you actually need to go...well, whoa...stand in line and take a number. There's usually only three numbers, but the wait time can be ridiculous.
While other families struggle with keeping their bathroom supplied with things like soap, shampoo, and toilet paper, my family members yell out, "Where is the new Time magazine?" or "Hey, I left a John Grisham novel here - where did it go?"
It's weird when some one walks out of the bathroom, broadly smiling and asking, "Did you read Joel Stein?"
I mention this because I'm teaching a tough World Literature course at the homeschool co-op and I'm concerned that prolonged wait-times will cause my whole gastrointestinal tract to shut down and die around September. The blog may take a decidedly dark turn.
Also, I'm looking for a waterproof copy of The Illiad, Dante's Inferno and Crime and Punishment.