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Paul has moved out of the master bath. I’m not sure how I feel about it. In his defense, his move was a logical one.

I’ve been in handicap bathroom stalls larger than our master bathroom. I wish I were joking. Most of the time I’m in there, I half expect one of those Koala baby changing tables to swing down from the wall and bonk me on the head. Next time your in a public stall, try to imagine fitting a vanity and a shower into such a tight space. Then imagine a 6’5″ 210 lb. man is in there with you, trying to get ready too. There’s just no room. But for whatever reason, some architect in 1972 thought he could make room. Maybe he spent too much time studying in Europe where most bathrooms are just a room with spigot and a drain. But oddly enough, our floor plan is the most popular floor plan in the neighborhood. Did all those other husbands come to the same conclusion too?

“I love you honey, but there’s just not room in this bathroom for the two of us.”

It’s true. Between my makeup, cleansers, toners, cotton balls, hair dryer and flat iron, counter top space for my sweet hubby is limited. Plus, there is no medicine cabinet. It’s all balanced on that teeny counter top because I can’t keep anything in the drawers. Why ever not? Dean. He loves, loves, loves getting into drawers. He claws into my makeup, gouges out my creams…it’s just not worth it. So I keep all my stuff up nice and high and pushed back. (I know, keep the door closed, you say. But there are 3 other little people around here who keep opening the doors I close.)

So after months of balancing his masculine toiletries on the tiny ledge by the window, he has finally made his exodus down to the more spacious bathroom in the basement. The great irony is, matter expands to the amount of space given. He has gone from one little bitty ledge, to a counter top twice the size of the one upstairs, and it is now full. Economy size mouth wash, electric razors, normal razors, aftershaves, business magazines and hair cutting clippers with all the parts are just a few of the things you’ll find scattered on his luxurious counter top. I don’t think he could move back into our stall bathroom now even if he wanted to.

So why do I have mixed feelings about all this? I get more space, he gets more space, everybody wins, right? Do I really miss trying to apply my makeup while he steamed up the shower? No. The truth? I rarely had to clean that uninhabited bathroom downstairs. It was for over night guests only. Now I have to scrub that toilet, that shower and that counter top every week. That is, after I get all the stuff off of it, of course.

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