I’ve only had that twice in my life. Once when I split with my first husband. Since it was crammed full of baby belongings, I am not sure it entirely counts. Maybe it doesn’t count either if I have to keep the cat box in there?
Nevertheless, it feels like my bathroom.
I absolutely, positively adore that. I love to have my own bathroom. Love it, love it!
Like my bedroom, I inherited colors. Someone had picked a lovely vanity cabinet that looks like an old dresser with dark wood. It has white drawer pulls and a beautiful white sink with nickel fixtures. There’s a claw-foot tub, a white wooden cabinet with draws that is free standing and the walls have wallpaper with delicately shaded ice blue and pale beige butterflies on a white background. There’s brilliant light in there. It is bouncing off all that white like a prism. It is a good place to take good care of myself. The room glows and feels clean. There’s a night light that casts the shadows at night of a palm that is in front of it. I have filled the room with bath products and paintings my mother did of the ocean, shells she and I collected and pictures of my son…just like I have for my entire adult life. There’s also two tiny pictures of seaside landscapes that my mother in law gave me when I first moved away from home. She said to put them in my bathroom. She said they’d been in the family for awhile and would bring me luck. It sure felt good to pull those out of storage and put them in my new bathroom.
And yanno what? I am reminded of a joke my former husband used to make about other men looking down on him about being sent to the store to buy embarrassing feminine supplies. He’d remark to the other guys perusing his purchases, “It’s okay. You’ve got some beer and the makings of an obviously solitary dinner on the counter. I’ve got a woman…which obviously trumps dinner and beer alone.” Used to make me laugh cause he was so obviously happy and satisfied with me and with making his point to other men. Remembering this makes me realize that I have a similar feeling, only it’s a girly thought. When Remus brings his things in there to use the bathroom, it feels good…it’s still my bathroom, (which I take deep satisfaction in) but looking at his stuff around makes me think, “I’ve got a man in my life and he’s making himself at home!”
I know. That’s silly. Nevertheless, it makes me happy to see I have my own bathroom and that I’ve got a man in my life who stays over in my bed. That’s just yummy!