This week between Christmas and New Year's always seems a little Twilight Zone-ish. Not this, not that, and we are all biding our time until the next day off, wandering the halls, not getting a whole lot accomplished. In honor of this, though the only halls I wander are my own, I am posting bizarre things about the new house.
We moved about ten days ago and a few times I have said, "I think I might love this house," like we are on our third date. But there are quirky things about it. Like our shower. Our bathroom has no door and our shower has no door, and is open at the top on two sides. It's chilly. It's also amazingly, amusingly big.
The shower itself is five feet by four feet, ten inches, which is larger by about five square feet than one of my first apartment's bathroom. It has, as you might have noticed, two shower heads. When we decided to make an offer on the house Mr. Blandings, standing just outside the shower non-door, said, "I am embarrassed for my mother to see this." "Well. It's not as if you designed it, then you really would be in a spot where you would be saying, 'See what we like to do?' This is just coincidence."
Still, as I am standing, shivering, I am wondering the rationale behind the design. Honestly, it seems utilitarian above all as the water, even if aimed at the same spot, seems to hit about mid-calf. I wondered with Mrs. Grizwald if she thought it was really just a time saver, so two people could get ready simultaneously. She mused, "Really, in the hopes of maintaining any appeal, the last thing I'd want to be doing in front of Mr. Grizwald is daily maintenance."
To another friend I said, "I could water my plants while I shower. Or do my hand-washing." "Or you could have group sex," she supplied. I could, I suppose, though in forty-five years I haven't and it seems a little late to start. Plus, there would be all the towels to wash. It occurred to me that my children would likely beat me to it. And would be unlikely to wash the towels. Both thoughts were concerning.