In my home, there will NEVER be a ban on who may use which bathroom. If you’re in my home, you’re my friend or relative and I love you for just being YOU.
But there is now a ban in place for myself. Why? What? Am I mad? Frankly, yes, but that has nothing to do with the situation at hand.
Henceforth, I am no longer allowed to let Fletch or my cellphone into the bathroom at shower time.
I have to do this. HAVE TO. Because if I don’t, my shower time becomes epic in proportion.
1) Fletch is too entertaining. He climbs into the linen cupboard (second shelf is completely clear just for him) and bats around a hairclip. He’ll bat it around inside and them knock it out for me to pick up and toss back in. We do this for at least 15 minutes. He usually waits until I’m completely naked before he decides to play, so that’s kind of a comedy in and of itself.
2) If my phone is with me, chances are I’m forehead deep in Twitter blackhole. I do a lot of reading on my phone these days (and I’m currently writing this on said phone) and sometimes the best finds come via Twitter. Yeah, yeah, I once said I’d never do Twitter, but that ship sailed back in 2010. Needless to say, it’s just as bad a time suck as anything else, but I’ve been extremely pleased with the vast majority of my Twitter experiences. Because of Twitter, I’ve had conversations with Carrie Fisher (God rest her soul) about hummingbirds. I’ve won some sweeeeet prizes (Black Sails has been very good to me lately!). And I’ve been able to stay in touch with some friends who don’t do much in the way of email/text/blog updating.
The phone is allowed to come to the bathroom with me ONLY if I’m in need of entertainment while my gut isn’t playing nicely or if I’m showering and am expecting an important call. Otherwise, I’m going to abide by the ban.