HAH! I WIN!

I am a regular man. Which surprises me. I had not expected it at all.

When I still lived in Valkenswaard (North Brabant, the Netherlands), I would stumble downstairs at around seven while my dad was abluting, pour myself a cup of coffee and hurriedly read the Volkskrant or the Eindhovens Dagblad before he came down.

We would then exchange newspapers - he had snagged the Herald Tribune and taken it into the bathroom - and at some point I would finish my coffee, and perform whatever ablutions I deemed necessary before heading off to school. A bowl of pipe tobacco might sabotage my grooming - one cannot bathe and smoke at the same time.
Washing oneself in the dead of winter in Northern Europe in any case is predicated upon a fine balance between central heating, hot water, and suicidal tendencies.

[The miserable Dutch climate with its constant grim overcast plentifully ensured a sufficiency of the last item mentioned, the first two were, at that time, merely erratic benefits of modern technology at best.]

Factoring in the universal tobacco appreciation of that era, plus ever-present rain, and the societal results could be described as pungent. Dutch high-school students in the nineteen-seventies had to be experienced to be believed.
It is the fragrance of the past.

My father was a very clean man, militarily organized in his habits.
The RCAF may have had something to do with that. Three years of bombing Jerry inculcates regularity, I guess.
Up at six AM. Physical exercises while the coffee perks. Breakfast, then upstairs to the bathroom for forty five minutes. Ending with a thorough scrubbing, even with the heater out.
The routine does not vary, do not dare interrupt it without a very good reason.

[There is no good reason. In case you wondered. None.]


In 1978 I returned to the United States to go to school. Students, as is well-known, are not given to very organized habits.
School alone requires attention to time, nothing else does. Personal cleanliness may take a backseat to a bowl of fine tobacco in the morning, at eventide dinner may be delayed by a particularly juicy passage in Joyce (Ulysses).

[Thirty years after the fact I realize that there are NO particularly juicy passages in Joyce; reading the entire book, attentively to boot, was an act of insanity.]


Fast forward to the present.

Savage Kitten and I have been living together now for over sixteen years.

In the morning, she gets up first, fixes herself breakfast, and, after considerable prodding, retreats into the bathroom. It takes quite a bit of encouragement, too. The caffeine and her chipper morning personality combine to frightening effect. She is social. She has good cheer. She is talkative. She speculates about things. She wishes to interact. She will interpret for the small furry creatures, or spar with the one-legged monkey .

[More about the monkey here:
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2008/09/happiness-is-quarrelling-with-monkey.html
and here:
http://atthebackofthehill.blogspot.com/2008/08/evil-monkey.html ]


I am not like that at all in the morning - I merely want to get that first cup of coffee down. This will take twenty minutes. Then I shall wish to enter the bathroom, where I intend to smoke and read for half an hour before doing anything else - which will take fifteen minutes.
I do not wish to be interrupted during that time. If you are going to interrupt, you had better have a very good reason.

So before I fix my second cup of coffee (the bathroom cup), I drop hints. "Honey Pie", I will say, "I shall need to use the bathroom soon".
She continues chattering as if she didn't hear me. "Sweety-Boogums, I'm going to fix my second cup now."
Not reacting in any way, she continues quoting from the latest book that she's reading.
Somewhat later, as I'm in the kitchen stirring the cup, I notice that she is still sitting on the bed.
"Muffin Cake, you DO know that coffee inevitably starts the peristaltic process, " I patiently explain, "and that means that certain needs will become painfully apparent within a set time from that first gulp of coffee"
She pretends obliviousness, and continues arguing with the sock sheep and the one-legged monkey that share our bed.
Several more minutes pass, and I take a sip of coffee while contemplating my next move.
"Ummm, dearest, if you need to pee, perhaps you should...." I will now venture, gallantly offering her EVERY CHANCE TO USE THE FACILITIES before I monopolize them.

It takes quite a bit of prodding.

It is not unusual for me to writhe painfully on the floor while waiting for her to come out of the bathroom.
Not inevitable, but not at all unusual.



GOTTA GO!

There have been times when she has urgently needed to use the bathroom while I have been ensconced within the noble precinct. Despite the inconvenience I have inevitably yielded - one should always let a lady pee. It is the gentlemanly thing to do.

This morning I had finally reached the stage of rinsing off the soap, when a frantic voice came from the other side of the door.
"Just a moment," I yelled, while grabbing smokes, book, notepad, pen, spectacles, and towel.
As she hurriedly slammed the door behind her, she muttered something about Navrattan Korma making one regular.

I do not need Navrattan Korma, sweetheart.
I am already regular.
Positively British in that regard.