Pax Lavatorium

Pax Lavatorium
Copyright © 2003

By Kyle Ervin

Whoever said that ‘a man’s home is his castle’ was either a bachelor or a woman with an extremely wicked sense of humor.
The kitchen…Hers! Not as though we even had a chance there. The bedroom…Hers! Sure…we sleep there… under the flower embossed comforter, amongst her collection of scented candles. The family room…Theirs! Every once in a while we can sweep the toys away and sit down and enjoy the game, but only if Gilmore Girls is a repeat and the Wii is broken. The fact of the matter is that today’s fathers and husbands are lucky to claim dominion over a two-car-garage full of one and a half cars worth of crap.
We used to have hope, though--- Hope that we could claim at least one room inside the house. We were modest so we set our sights low. We focused on the one place that we could at times find 1) a bit of peace 2) a bit of solitude and 3) a bit of quiet. That’s right, we sought to claim The Throne Room a.k.a. The Bathroom.
First, we staked our claim with our electric razor on the sink. We defended it by saying that it had to be plugged in all the time. Then, we brought in the more masculine looking toothbrush holder. She acquiesced. We started to get brave. With our new found guts we ventured to bring in the sports page. And when that seemed to go smoothly we went for something a little more permanent. That’s right. That’s when we attempted our first Popular Mechanics Magazine.
The transition was rough but we overcame her objections by buying a cute magazine rack from the Pottery Barn. Before you knew it we were happily reading Tom Clancy and the Times day after marvelous day. Finally, we felt like kings. In fact, I wouldn’t doubt it if there were guys out their developing unhealthy addictions to Ex-Lax and Metamucil just so they could be certain of a good twenty to thirty minutes of ‘alone time’.
Naturally, she questioned our sanity, not understanding how we could sit on the john, risking hemorrhoids, to finish the chapter. And, like conquering heroes, we answered with a resounding, “BECAUSE WE CAN!!!” There was a lock on the door and even if there wasn’t, nobody dared to enter. We had staked our claim and it was wonderful. Yes, those were glorious days, the days I call Pax Lavatorium.
But, sadly, those days are gone for me. The peace was shattered one Saturday afternoon when I made the mistake of trying to clean out and organize my wife’s and my bathroom “stuff”. That is when the truth hit me like an Acme anvil. We are not kings of the bathroom but merely passersby in a foreign land, a land of utter bewilderment and confusion.
Her takeover was not overt. No, she’s much too sly for that. She waged her war for bathroom dominance from the hidden recesses of the vanity - ambushing me from behind the mirror of the medicine cabinet. It was there that I found that I had lost control and that my territory was now, or perhaps had always been, in jeopardy.
Sure my razor was still on the sink and the toothbrush holder stood firm. But my heart did a tango when I looked behind the mirror. There I found an enormous collection of lotions and creams and gels. And I could not even begin to derive the purpose of any of them. They had mystifying names like clarifying toner, revitalizing shower gel, rejuvenating cleanser, and renewing moisturizer.
Some company called Burt’s Bees made a good showing with it’s Buttermilk Lotion, Complexion Soap, and get this…Carrot Day Cream and Garden Tomato Toner. I couldn’t help but wonder if Bugs Bunny was missing a meal somewhere.
Suzanne Somers even made an appearance. I don’t know why this surprised me. The woman is freakin’ everywhere! I got her friggen ThighMaster in my garage, her diet book in my kitchen and now she’s made her way into my bathroom with a Creamy Cleanser with Microbeads. What the hell’s a microbead? When she starts peddling lingerie she can pretty much call her takeover complete. Where’s Jack Tripper when we really need him.
Not even Suzanne Somers could cause me to give up immediately though. I clung to the hope that I could toss some of this stuff under the guise of ‘cleaning up’. I began studying labels, looking for duplicate items and other things that I might righteously ‘clear out’. But I was stonewalled by semantics. I just didn’t know if a revitalizing toner and a rejuvenating toner were the same thing. Sounds the same…but I couldn’t be sure. It certainly didn’t help that I had no idea what a toner was. I always thought it was something the printer needed.
Inevitably, that sickening feeling of ignorance settled on me like a lingering fart. I realized I had no chance. I would have to ask my wife.
Now, my wife is no dummy. She could see what was happening. She knew that I was trying to reclaim lost territory. She immediately took to the defensive.
She knew she didn’t need to tell me how expensive all of these things were. Hell, I probably bought half of them in the form of some gift basket that I thought was a clever way to save myself the agony of the shopping mall. No, she didn’t attack my frugality. Instead she used the most artful of feminine arguments. “Don’t you want your wife to look her best?” She lunged.
“Come on…do you actually use all this stuff?” I parried.
“I use at least (she began to count under her breath) nine of these on a daily basis.” She drove it home.
“NINE?!!!”
Well, now I had no right to be worried that these things might go unused. However, I did have a weird sense of inadequacy. Because now I felt that I might somehow be failing myself in the area of personal hygiene. I recognized the feeling as the same one that I get when watching Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. It’s the feeling that I am sure to be shunned in polite society because I have pores that are visible to the naked eye.
At that point I knew the battle was lost. I ran my finger down my nose and rubbed off some of the oil that I used to treasure for its ability to destroy the excessive foam on a poorly poured mug of beer. I peered down at my finger and asked my wife… “Do you think I should use the Renewing Cleanser or the Creamy Cleanser with Microbeads?”
“Definitely the Microbeads.” Her victory was complete.

Parental Advice to David S.

-First, Learn to take 3 very deep breaths. Understand that life at it's most frustrating without kids, doesn't hold a candle to how frustrating it can be with them.

- Plan to be 20 minutes late for everything from here on out. Notice How I didn't say plan to leave 20 minutes earlier so that you'll be on time…because that doesn't work. Just understand that you are going to be 20 minutes late no matter how early you plan to leave. If you leave early they will have to go potty, or be fed or drop a nasty turd in their diaper.

-Learn to get by on less sleep. You're allowed to complain about said lack of sleep on Facebook, but only moderately. We've all been there and we all feel your pain and we will all definitely commiserate...to a point ...but nobody likes a whiner. Just do what everybody else does and increase your caffeine intake by 2/3’s.

-Snuggle with them. You will feel your tension disappear when they’re cuddled up next to you.

-Know that a restaurant and a Church and a playground are all the same thing to a small child. They're going to climb around, shout out and otherwise embarrass you in all three places until you teach them otherwise. They're kids...it's what they do. Be polite, of course…if they're crying in a public place just take them outside. But if the grumpy old dude one table over gives you the stink eye, I suggest just flipping him the bird mentally…it’s just better manners.

-They are going to get hurt. You can't bubble wrap them. But a freaked out parent means a freaked out kid...so stay calm even though your heart is in your throat (easier said than done I admit).

-You’ve got a little while before potty training but when you get there you’re going to realize just how filthy public toilets are. Bring lots of wipes.

-Never make a threat you can't or won't carry through on. Think before you speak...I learned this lesson the hard way.

-Play with them. They grow up faster than you can imagine.

-Everybody and their mother (and your mother and her mother) is going to give you advice on how to raise your kid (just like this). Some may even be so bold as to criticize you…Do what you think is best and ignore the rest. It’s your kid and your responsibility.
That’s all I can think of for now. GOOD LUCK!