B.C. (before children) I had no experience of living with little boys. I grew up with sisters and step sisters and as my mother lurched from one doomed relationship to another, often there was no male in the house at all. Our family was small, so no cousins or nephews either.
Now I find myself as the lone female in a house full of men. I adore them, really, I do, but am I allowed to say I find them disgusting too?
I thank my lucky stars that we have two toilets, because I am not sure I could survive with one.
Their toilet habits leave much to be desired. The door is often left wide open so all and sundry can hear their strains. Cheeky Monkey begs me to wipe. “But mum you are the best wiper”. Gee, thanks, must add that to my resume.
With the foot in a can boot I have resorted to using ‘their’ loo in the night. Oh. dear. me. “I must remember to put the light on next time” I said to myself as I sat down on the seat covered in wee.
The Saint is responsible for the cleanliness of ‘their’ loo. His sense of smell must be withering with age, as a few nights later, I tried again (I still didn’t put the light on).
Within seconds my eyes were smarting. The smell of ammonia/vinegar was overwhelming.
I rushed back to bed, exclaiming to The Saint. “Really?” “I hadn’t noticed” he replied.