I asked her to put away the scuba equipment that she’d left in the bathtub and she decided to wear it instead.
Like Martin Luther King I have a dream, only mine involves my own private bathroom.
Call me a shallow woman but every once in a while I long to take a relaxing bath. This is pretty difficult to pull off, however, when you have to kick out the naked Barbies, toss the scuba equipment, and borrow your kids’ Scooby Doo bubble bath.
We live in a circa 1968 ranch style house with one full bath. We have two daughters. You do the primping potential mathematical equation. It boggles the mind and, frankly, I am still recovering from the holidays.
When the girls got home Sunday evening somehow the topic of where the girls would go to high school came up and I told Miss C that we might move just a few miles to another school district when she’s in middle school, which yes is several years away but she’s inherited that “let’s obsess about something that’s not even going to happen for several calendar years” gene from me, God bless her.
I tried to sell this possible move idea by mentioning the excitement of the girls having their very own bathroom in a new house (insert mental exclamation point, namely mine you’d better believe it.)
Miss C seemed excited. Miss A not so much.
“But we HAVE two bathrooms…I don’t WANNA MOVE!” she told me, quite dramatically, while flailing about on the couch.
“Baby if we do move it’s not going to be for a very long time. And yes we do have two toilets, but we only have one bathtub,” I told her, clarifying this very critical detail.
Even I can calculate the potential for Estrogen World War I: The Battle For The Big Bathroom in a few years and I made a C in college Basic Math.