Peeing 101

Allow me to preface this post by stating that while the title involves the word "peeing", this is in fact NOT a post about Whinnie. Shocking, I know. Also, this may be a little "TMI"(too much information) for some, so you might want to stop reading now. Moving on.


Until Todd and I bought our house, I had never lived with a guy before, other than my Dad and brother.


Growing up, we had a strict "going to the bathroom means bathroom door is closed" policy. I would be crucially embarrassed if I sat down to do my business and suddenly realized, mid-pee, that there was no TP in the bathroom, leaving me no other option than to have to holler to my mom or dad and ask them if they could throw a roll in the bathroom. (Meaning, open the door just a crack wide enough to stick your arm in and toss the roll aimlessly across the bathroom, hoping it reaches me.)


I grew up hating it when my mom would try to talk to me in public restrooms when we were using side-by-side stalls. I just wanted to finish peeing as fast as possible, so that I could escape the horror of the public restroom. ***(read great addendum at bottom)*

When I went "off to college" (or rather, moved into the dorms approximately 2.5 miles from my parents front step), my bathroom behavior remained the same. The door was always closed. Unless, you know, a couple of us girls were at a frat party and refused to wait single-file in line, so we all piled into the tiny (and typically disgusting) frat house bathrooms and took turns hovering, while continuing our sorority girl cackling. But, we were all girls. And, at that point we were typically a sick-pack deep and probably could have peed in someones house plant and not really cared. Liquid courage I guess.


Fast forward several years to the land of home-ownership and marriage. Which brought about our very own powder room. (You know, a first floor bathroom with just a toilet and sink -- and I hear a lot of them have mirrors too, but ours is missing...ask my husband why). And which brings forth my topic of discussion:


Is it OK to pee with the bathroom door open, if it's just you and your spouse in the house?


Todd seems to think it's totally fine to use the powder room with the door open. And more so, he seems to think it's totally fine to continue on with our conversations as he does so. Once I even caught him heading in there to pee, while we were having a conversation, and I was making dinner in the kitchen! Yes, the kitchen that is directly opposite from the powder room! He ended up closing the door that time...

I'm not saying it bothers me to hear peeing sounds. We've all used public restrooms before. There's no escaping the sound. And it's not like he leaves the door open when we have company over. He does have manners. And he ALWAYS washes his hands. Yet every single time he goes into the powder room, I can't help but call to him from the couch "are you leaving the door open?" It's an automatic reflex.


I asked a set of our married friends if they thought it odd for one spouse to pee, with the door open, while carrying on a conversation with the other spouse. They said it was normal married life behavior. So much so, that they rarely close their bathroom door...and have been known to do even "more business" while carrying on a conversation. Now THAT'S a comfort level I don't think I'll ever reach. (Names withheld to protect the innocent...or I suppose I should say, the guilty!)


I guess it's just one of those quirks of marriage that takes some getting used to. I'm sure Todd would prefer I closed the bathroom door when tweezing my eyebrows or applying my "war paint" (concealer/make-up as he calls it).

And I'm sure it could always be worse. He could be pooping in the basement and not telling anybody.

But then again, that's what we have Whinnie for.




*Funny story -- one time my mom and I were using the restroom at Olive Garden. She thought she had gone in the stall right next to mine, but in actuality she went one stall over, so there was someone in the stall between ours. Well, middle lady let out a loud rip-roaring fart, and my mom (who typically scolds public flatulence) busted up laughing and said "GOOD ONE MELIS!" real loud. After we finished, as we were washing our hands, I mouthed to her "that wasn't me", just as a little old lady with a cane walked out of the middle stall. We could barely get out of the restroom fast enough before we both doubled over with laughter. My mom no longer tries to continue conversations with me upon entering public restroom stalls.