Tuesday, October 24, 2006

RANT: Bathroom Time = Private Time!

Dear Family,

First off, let me say that I love you dearly. If I possibly could, I would spend every moment for the rest of my life with you. As we live in the Los Angeles area, it is necessary that I work full-time outside the home. Between shuttling Son to school and other activities, working in a busy office environment, and handling most of the household needs, I figure I get about 20 or so minutes a day of time to myself, with no one else present (10 of those minutes is the time it takes me to get to work after dropping off Son at school plus the time it takes for me to leave work and pick up Son). The other ten or so minutes of time I have to myself, I spend in the bathroom.

Husband, I know we are very close, we don't hide anything from each other, and we are comfortable being naked around each other. Hell, I LOVE being naked with you. You fart around me, I fart around you, we have nothing to hide. However, when I am in the bathroom, I want to be left alone. I don't want you peeking in the bathroom that is adjacent to the living room when I am in it. I don't want you throwing the door wide open when I am in there. I don't want you looking at me when I am sitting on the pot, doing my business. I don't want you to watch me wipe. I especially don't want a hug or to kiss you and I REALLY don't wish to be fondled or touched in any way while I am taking a crap. I know you don't have any sense of personal boundaries when it comes to your wife, but I really don't feel my sexiest when I am pushing waste out of my asshole into the toilet. It's worse when I have gastrointestinal distress, because you will come in and laugh at the noises my bowels are making or critique the odor I have produced. Please, I beg you, leave me alone and when I come out I will be your perfect wife again.

Son, I can't believe you're ten years old already. It seemed like just yesterday you were crying when you didn't get your way. Oh wait, that *was* yesterday. I mean, it seemed like just yesterday that you were in diapers and I was teaching you how to use the big boy toilet. I let you in the bathroom with me while I was doing my business because I wanted you to see that I was okay using the potty, I wasn't going to fall in or be eaten by some potty monster. I explained that boys have a weewee and girls don't. We went through that a very long time ago. You've since learned to aim (sorta) and wipe yourself (mostly) without me. So, honey, when I'm in the bathroom, please let me be. You want to ask permission for something? Go ask your dad. You need my help with your homework? Ask dad! He can't help you because it's English, science, math or anything other than history? Then go on to the next assignment and I'll help you when I'm done. You're hungry? Well then, I'll be sure to fix you some of the food I've got stashed next to the toilet paper and the crossword puzzle book we keep on the back of the tank. Please, I beg you, leave me alone and when I come out I'll make dinner and help you with your homework.

Thank you, family, for giving me ten people-free minutes to go to the bathroom. When I'm in there, I'm usually trying to figure out what I'm going to make for dinner, what things we need from the store, when and where is Son's next baseball game, about what tragedy is going on at work, whether or not that blouse I want to wear tomorrow is clean/ironed, etc. So please, give me my space, and I'll give you yours.