WOMEN, STAY OUT OF THE BATHROOM!

The gentler sex and water are a bad mix. Not only do they leave the toilet seat in the wrong position, always, but they have bizarre ideas about the position of the roll. Ladies, here is a suggestion: avoid the loo.
Especially in the morning.

My apartment mate will serve as a cautionary example.
An independent woman, eccentric and unattached.

Her bathroom habits explain a lot.
Possibly why she is single.

We have various water receptacles in our bathroom. There is a normal sized bucket, a small basin, and a plastic cup or decanter. Because she grew up during the drought, she obsesses about water conservation. I pay it far less attention, because I was in Holland during my youth, which is a bog with water all over the damned place, but she was a resident of California.
Not the California of luscious green suburban lawns.
That's the southland, Los Angeles.
Northern Cal. A desert.

The sound of splashing woke me, my bladder heard the call. She's grumpy when disturbed, so I remained in my bed wishing she would hurry up.
First I heard her scooping water into the bucket with the basin. From grim experience I know how many scoops it takes to get most of the water into the bucket, which should be used to flush the facility afterwards.

Scoop, scoop, scoop, scoop, pause.

Okay.

Then I heard the plastic cup or decanter being deployed. This took several minutes more, long painful minutes. Interrupting her intense zen-like scoopery is not advised, because being an Asperger type and intensely focused, this would set off a grump of frightening proportion.

Scoop scoop scoop scoop scoop.
Splash splash splash.

Eternity.

I really had to pee. Badly. Full bladder, like a ninth month pregnancy coming to fruition, swollen painful gravid, nearly eruptive. The size of Texas or Donald Trump's ego. Too tight to even slosh.

Scoopity scoop!



Yeah, I finally got in there. Niagara.



Actually, she's not that bad. We don't have a holder for the paper, the active roll stands on a little table within easy reach, and she has in all these years never mentioned the seat. She grew up with brothers, and Chinese people aren't nearly as neurotic as white folks. Nor as ditzy weird.
I think she appreciates that I leave it up, as evidence that there was no piddling on the rim, and I certainly don't mind lifting it when necessary.
We both leave the place rather clean when finished.

I pull the handle when I am done.
The bucket is perfect as is.
It's a filled bucket.
That's lovely.
Just.




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