I had a funny situation last weekend that has caused the Goose and me to laugh repeatedly.
I saw an article the other day, written by a recently divorced man, giving advice to married men. Ironic, I know. Most were nice, hold hands more often, open doors, etc. One, however, caused me to blanch. It said, “do not use the bathroom in the same room as your spouse”. Actually, it was more descriptive than that. WHAT THE HECK??? Please tell me who, in the world, would do this? Does this actually go on? Even my dog, Matilda, will not “use the loo” with anyone looking.
There are certain subjects that are not broached in my house. I grew up that way, my children grew up that way, we’re just that way. The bathroom is one of those subjects. Until I had babies, neither the Goose, nor I, had ever mentioned any bodily function that goes on in the bathroom. We’d already been married eight years and had traveled to strange countries and eaten a variety of unsettling foods and had still managed not to make any bathroom references. If someone feels the call of nature, we seek out the farthest, most secretive and unused restroom in the vicinity. Jiminy Crickets! There are just some things that don’t need to be discussed or announced.
Our drama began when I took NyQuil the other night. It’s my sleep drug of choice when I need one. I adore that velvety blackness with a lack of hangover then next morning. NyQuil is more than welcome to call me for a paid endorsement. The Goose is a nighttime grazer. I can’t imagine a scenario when I would find the call of cookies more important than sleep, but the Goose gets up every night and eats. This night, I was out of it. I awoke in the night, after several glasses of water and had to visit the powder room. Since it was dark and I was groggy, I didn’t even look for the Goose in the bed. I slipped, zombie like, into the bathroom and there most likely continued what could only be considered a drug induced trance. It’s warm in there. There’s a heat vent and the room is small. I might have dozed off for a second. The Goose was coming back from the kitchen and saw the light on and opened the door to turn it off. He didn’t know I was in there, of course. I was quiet. I am lucky I wasn’t in a coma. Seeing me, he tried to quickly close the door but his movement caught my eye and I issued the longest, most blood curdling B movie scream that’s ever been uttered at my house. At any house. I mean I wailed. Loudly and for a long time. I scared the Goose into screaming too. It was a confused, nighttime terror as we looked anywhere but at each other, both bawling and bellowing like when Drew Barrymore sees ET for the first time. The Goose, still hollering, slammed the door and I continued my shrieking for a good minute or so. By the time I got to bed, though, we were giggling like a couple of stoners.
Then, the Goose got a text from our daughter, Cricket. The kids’ rooms are far away from ours and we didn’t think they could hear us. Apparently they can. This brings up other questions that we are choosing not to address.
Cricket called the Goose from her room and the Goose, genius that he is, clicked decline. She called again, he accidentally did it again. Then she texted: I am hiding in the troll door in my closet. I’m scared!” This caused us so much enjoyment that we were literally limp, cackling and howling. During the time we ignored her, she called her boyfriend to tell him that we were being murdered downstairs and he got up ready to come kick some burglar ass. Finally, we managed to text her what had happened to which she texted back “freaks” and it was over. We still lay there giggling for a good half hour though. I might interject that during this entire episode, which went on for a while, Cricket did not go and make sure her brother wasn’t being killed, and for this, I will tell him that he is the favorite, for at least a week.
My point, and to bring it back around, according to the divorced man’s article, I would say that there are apparently weird people out there with no shame whatsoever. Some things are private and I am pushing the bounds of privacy by even writing this. If this is you being disgusting, stop it. It’s not nice. It’s gross. If you wonder why the zip is gone, this could be the reason. Close the door, LOCK it!