So I’m sitting on the toilet tonight, minding my business, when my relatively new girlfriend yells out my name to see where I am. Welcome to one of my pet peeves, new girlfriend. It drives me crazy when people talk to me when I’m in the bathroom.
The bathroom is the only place I get to be alone in my house. It’s my kingdom, my sanctuary, my sacred place where I can be alone with my thoughts or no thoughts at all. I am King there…and the toiletries all serve me. Toothbrush, clean my teeth. Comb, brush my hair. Razor, shave my face. Loofa (yes, real men use loofas), wash me clean.
Here alone can I contemplate how to solve world hunger, think about that psycho at the bus stop who is constantly dancing like he’s tripped out on acid (he could be on an IPOD commerical), or figure out what I ate last night based on the smell drifting towards me from below. The bathroom also serves as my audition room (shower) for American Idol, where I belt out my best songs, from Green Day to Boyz II Men to Whitney Houston…yeah, I said it…can’t no one sing “I Will Always Love You” like this guy.
And let’s be honest, who doesn’t flex in front of the mirror…trying to show off your stuff. So what that I’ve got arms that are anorexic and moobs that brings all the boys to the yard. Here I am king, here I am champion, here I am MAN…hear me roar. Ok, maybe not roar, because the walls aren’t that thick and I’m sure my neighbors might be disturbed by my roaring…perhaps a few man grunts…Tim the Tool Man Taylor style.
Cavemen had cafe drawings…I have mirror fog drawings. Cavemen pulled bugs from their hair…I pull greys from my head (yes, I know, I’m getting old…28 and already getting greys)…and pluck nose hairs. Cavemen danced around fires…I dance around. Caveman cooked and ate food…I…well, I don’t…because food in the bathroom is just plain wrong.
The bathroom…my sanctuary, my man cave, my kingdom. The one place I can pretend to be more than I am. The one place where I’m not judged. The one place where this crazy world makes sense, and I can see not only a piece but the whole cake the way the baker meant for it to be seen.
- Just Call Me Lungs
“All the world is birthday cake, so take a piece, but not too much.” – George Harrison
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Relatively new girlfriend would like it to be noted 1) that she had just arrived and was wondering where you were… wasn’t sure, maybe you were playing hide & seek (?) and 2) how can the bathroom be the only place you get to be alone… just call me lungs, you live alone – ha.
Come on. . .There is nothing wrong with eating in the bathroom. If you play your cards right and the food promises to go right through you, you can just throw it straight in the toilet. . .cut out the middle man. These are business decisions you are making, my friend. . .
That was wrong on so many different levels. I talk to you while your in the bathroom, mostly cuz i like to bother you. If your bathroom rituals are yours and yours alone, why did you just share them with the world. I would also like to mention that I do a mean whitney houston, you don’t want a challenge. I agree with steven berndt, in these hard economic times we have to cut out the middle man, eat in the bathroom.hahaha
relatively friend (as we have never actually met in person) would like to note that she feels bad for relatively new girlfriend. i’m sure she did not intend to intrude on your man time in the stink cave. in fact, i can almost guarantee that relatively new girlfriend did not, even a little bit, actually WANT to talk to you while you were making your business and singing to shainia twain. so relatively new boyfriend of relatively new girlfriend, next time shoot her a heads up text so she can go about not worrying where you are or what you ate the night before. ;o)
Another example why inner voice is very important.
btw, based on the start of this blog, I’m definitely coming back for some more cake.
So your new girlfriend can’t talk to you while you’re taking the browns to the superbowl, but while Rice Cakes is making a deposit he can email you. New girlfriend got jipped…