To sink or not to sink to your knees

Posted: November 23, 2010 in don't fight it
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

It’s just a sink right?  But it isn’t just any sink….

IT IS THE FAMILY BATHROOM SINK!!!  Oh my GOD!!

Now here is a challenge for the Swedish design wizards… a sensible sink in a house full of females.  I am not complaining about living with three members of the ‘finer’ (we’ll see) sex.  I just want to make a kind of ‘State of the Union’ address in regards to the bathroom sink and various issues a guy might have with certain… aspects?

Our flat has but one bathroom, one male, three females, one garbage, one male, one screwdriver and one male (I did mention that) and ONE BATHROOM … to which I finally get access, which is for a brief ten-minute interval just before I need to actually leave.  (Incidentally usually before I am completely finished my allotted time I am inevitably interrupted by the three girls as each will have to PEE (again) before leaving the house.  I’ve learned to do my morning routine like abbreviated dance routines punctuated by moments standing semi-clad outside the door.)

I wade into the bathroom and find a place to stand that is not covered in water.  Why don’t they dry in the shower why in front of the sink?  I then search for my miniscule section of cabinet space.  It’s not easy to find as it is in a secluded area to the left and is usually camouflaged by bras and panties all hanging on dangly little clothesline-thingies.  This miasma of lace and intrigues is ALWAYS in front of my cabinet.  Why?  Pushing aside the cups and niceties (?) I retrieve my toiletry bag.  (OH yes, after years with these girls I’ve learned to consolidate my space.)

Even my bag is stressed to find a place to perch.  There is the blow dryer, curling iron and straightening crimper (which looks like it belongs with the BBQ set) all plugged in with cords neatly trailing in, on and around the sink.  Water… sink… let’s electrocute the guy with the medieval hand shaver!  My small bag is nestled by the taps but tips to one side striking the first of several precariously lined up tubes.  A cavalcade of lipstick and mascara containers clatter in a domino affect lastly striking a moisturizer which is heavy enough to strike one of the fourteen containers of expensive perfume that plummets to the floor.  I snatch at the tiny bottle but only succeed in whacking it against the toilet bowl where it bursts.  Now both I and the toilet will reek of some mystical female pheromone (Do I need that at the job site you ask?).  With the glass splattered on the floor I begin the clean up process – still wrapped only in a towel and half my face in white lather.  My ten minutes is fast evaporating and the first gentle knock comes as a reminder that I am a minority.  There is naught but to rush the clean up.

At last I return to the sink and fumble for my razor.  Another knock.  I pull the razor from the side of the sink where it dropped in panic and drag a long, thin chain-like earring concealed among the other metal fragment /adornments around the sink.  It hits the sink base.  The plunger is up.  I reach for it – but it’s gone.

I’ll be crucified.

I kneel down in the puddles on the floor and open the sink cupboard intent on quickly removing the trap to get it out.  As the cupboard door opens a cavalcade of tissues, cotton swabs, napkins and feminine products pour forth on the wet floor inundating my knees.  A knock – only two taps – must be one of the others.  I struggle to undo the trap and carefully lower it.  It appears there is at least half a woman inside.  Is it a wig or a hedgehog nestled in the sink drain?  My fingers wade through the plethora of blond and chocolate hair.  Find the wayward chain and toss it still covered in hair on the side.  The remaining grunge I toss in the toilet and flush.

A knock and, ‘Camping are we?’  Such darlings.

I toss the bottles and paper products and feminine bits under the sink.  They’ll dry and no one will know.  With a Schumacher like attitude I race the blade around my face and get most of the stubble.

Two knocks ‘Hello?’  Shit!  I have gone over eleven minutes… unheard of!

I toss my bag into the cabinet and reach for the door unaware my arm has slipped through one of the bra straps.  I pull the door clear and down come the bras and panties on top of me.  The female faces stare bemused at my body clad in towels, bras, panties and touches of lather.

“We just wanted to say bye.  We’re leaving early.”

Huh?  I smile calmly. What I wouldn’t do for my own bathroom… even if it was outside!

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