She Came In Through The Bathroom Window

“A new father quickly learns that his child invariably comes to the bathroom at precisely the times when he’s in there, as if he needed company. The only way for this father to be certain of bathroom privacy is to shave at the gas station. “
Bill Cosby

It has been said that people use prostititutes because they can pay them to go away. If this is the case, I wish I was wealthy, so I could pay my wife and three daughters to let me go to the bathroom.

There are certain realities you concede when you get married and have children.

1) I’ll never have abs. Ever. There’s always birthday cakes, anniversary dinners, quick stops at fast food joints because the kids are starving from being in the car and cookouts to celebrate something.

2) It will never be quiet in my house. If it is quiet in my house, I won’t enjoy it or get used to it. There is a 34 year old wife with a great personality, a 15 year old daughter who thinks melodrama is the new black, a 7 year old daughter who put the E in energetic, and a sweet 6 year old daughter who has two voices – loud and louder. There’s also a 98 pound boy golden retriever and two kittens. My house sounds like an airplane hanger.

3)  I will always be embarrassed. No matter what I get used to – bra shopping, monthly female issues, friends who are boys trying to push up on my girls, random nudity, burping, emotional outburts; these women know how to push my buttons and bring out the blush face.

One thing I just can’t deal with is the lack of privacy. I have written extensively about how friggin weird I am. The whole “robot-human hybrid” thing isn’t just an image or a nickname, it’s a real persona for me. One of my idiosyncracies is I don’t like to know what people are doing in the bathroom. I’m not scatalogical. I was never a little boy that thought farting and burping and grossness was funny. Whoopy cushions and flarp are funny but they’re fake. When it comes to women, I assume you are all perfect and thus the bathroom is where you get ready and take showers or baths. Unfortunately with the bunch I live with, they have no shame and they don’t care that I do.

There’s a new law in house concerning me and bathroom or as we call it, the potty. I announce when I am going in there so no one speaks to me until I’m done, regardless of function or need. Why? Well that’s because my wife and daughters only want to go into the potty when I’m in there. A couple of weeks ago, my teenage daughter, Tay, the only one with any modesty, was told by her mom, the Bobina, to go get something out of our bathroom. I didn’t announce to my wife that I had business in MY potty. The lock on that bathroom is tricky. You have to do something akin to magic to make sure the door is secure. My 15 year old bounds into the potty like she owns it and uh huh, I’m there unprotected. I’m still not over it.

My wife and kids, at the end of the day, are pretty awesome. They let me work out, play guitar, watch sports and write. I get “me” time. They also know how crazy I am. One thing they won’t do is allow ANY privacy inside our house for me when nature calls. So almost every day is my most embarrassing moment.

If you come over, knock. That’s all I’m saying.

****blogger’s note**** This is my answer to the writing challenge from http://thereddressclub.blogspot.com/ ‘s prompt, “What’s You Most Embarrassing Moment?”

Today’s song is obvious. I sang Penny Lane in the car to the chagrin of my kids this morning. But this one is more appropriate. Here’s The Beatles’s She Came in Through The Bathroom Window: