Privacy, or the lack there of , is big issue with almost every married woman, mother, sister, daughter, and friend I’ve ever talked to. It also seems to be a rather vaguely defined issue. I will tell anyone who cares to listen where the line is for me. Where do you end and I begin? The bathroom door. When I am in the powder room to shower or what-ev-er. The closed door is intended to be a metaphysical “do not disturb” sign. And no, I do not care to carry on a conversation from behind that door either.
My two children, a boy and girl, are grown and have long since flown. When they were little, one of the things that would drive me insane is the sudden urgency that developed when they heard the bathroom door quietly click shut. Yea, I would try to sneak in there, you got a problem with that? The little darlings would immediately manufacture a crisis, or develop a burning need to know why leaves are green or where babies come from.
It never occurred to me, when entering into a new life with Mr. Husband a few years back, that I would have to go through the whole process all over again. Evidently he did not master the “leave the woman the hell alone, when the door is closed” concept before I came along in his tender middle age.
This lack of understanding is only compounded by Murphy’s law # 872 – the phone rings at the exact nano second you get in the shower. At our house the following chain of events transpires. I let out a deep contented sigh and step into a nice soothing hot shower. Then I hear a faint knock on the door followed by a cold blast of air.
As the steam clears, I see the husband standing there, phone in hand. He announces, with a look of grave concern and urgency, “the phone if for you.” I state that I don’t care and demand to know why he is standing there without my previous consent or invitation. He dodges the question by countering with “but, it’s your mother” (sister, brother, mailman, the donate a kidney fund.) I usually end up stating through gritted teeth “I don’t care, I’m IN THE EFFIN SHOWER, get out…please”. To which he responds “well fine” and stalks off to mope about it.
Is it just me? Was I out to lunch the day the cosmos announced that’s it is now ok to knock on a door and then barge right in without waiting for a reply? Does this practice now fall in the category of the pseudo polite greeting “hi, how are you” when no one really wants to know?
Been trying to think of some kind of practical joke that would impress on Hub-man to not open closed bathroom doors without the prior consent of the person on the other side of the door. I thought about a bucket of water over the door, but that would probably backfire. He wouldn’t bat an eye if he walked in on me hanging by my toes from the ceiling fan, so that’s just right out.
In the end the solution was so delicious, so delightfully low tech. Why didn’t I think of it years ago? Found an old rubber door stop in the junk drawer. Works like a charm.
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