Champagne problems, I know. But humor me, OK?
I hate my master bathroom. Hate it so much. So so much. I know, I know. Some of you reading this do not have a master bathroom, and to you, I sound like a douche. Well I’m sorry. But I am now going to vent, and you’re going to read it anyway.
First of all, there is this ridiculously HUGE bathtub. You know, one of them fancy whirlpooly types. Totally useless. Totally. It takes $453 in water just to fill it up. I tried to use it, once, when I first moved in. I turned on the jets and black slime came out. Obviously the previous owners agreed with my feelings on the tub and it hadn’t seen much use in the previous years. I have not used it since.
Actually, that’s not true. I use it to give my cat water in the middle of the night. The cat also sleeps in there. It’s also where Mr. Chick E keeps his work clothes. See below.
So it does see some use. And I do have to clean it. Imagine that. I clean a bathtub so that it stays clean for my cat and my husband’s work clothes. I really am living the dream…
My master bath also has a stand-up shower. Is that what they’re called? A stall-style shower. It’s a shower all by itself. Whatever that is called. That would normally be fine, except there is no bench or nook or anything in there for me to but my leg up on when I need to shave. Too much info? Maybe. But if one person, just one, can learn from this, then it’ll be worth it. It’s hard to shave your legs when they’re just kind of dangling in mid-air.
The toilet is fine and works. A toilet is a toilet really. Except its behind the door. Like the door opens and totally hides the toilet. Which maybe isn’t a bad thing I guess because toilets aren’t really pretty. We have a magazine basket next to ours, as many of you probably do. Ours contains mostly Playboys, some Redbooks, and some gardening mags. The other day I was getting ready for work and hear Grace talking to me from the bathroom and I turn around and she’s sitting on the floor reading a Playboy. Time to put those away I guess.
There is only one sink in the bathroom. This is only annoying because of the extremely poor layout. Get rid of that ridiculous bathtub, put a shower (with a built-in bench) in its place, and it frees up one entire wall for two sinks and maybe even a linen closet. Oh my God. A linen closet. In my bathroom. It would be the best thing ever.
I’ve saved the best (AKA the worst) for last. The floor. Oh heaven help me, the bathroom floor. It is literally going to be the cause of my impending carpal tunnel. It’s not that it’s ugly. It’s not. It’s actually a floor I see on HGTV quite often (except even though the little tiles look black in the picture, they’re not. They’re green. But still…it’s sort of what people go for these days). It’s that its white. White. If you don’t have a white bathroom floor, then please do not try to relate. If you do have a white bathroom floor, but do not have OCD, also please do not try to relate. There is a small group of a very strange Venn diagram that will understand this. (Chick A just Googled Venn diagram. Mark my words.)
Everything shows up on a white floor. EVERYTHING. It makes me feel…dirty. Endlessly dirty. Please bear in mind too, that I’m not only neurotic about keeping clean floors but that I am also married to a landscaper, who keeps his clothes (clean and dirty) in the master bathroom. OK? So there is no end to the amount of dirt on my bathroom floor. Between that and the hair. Oh the hair. For the love of God the hair. Does hair stay on the human head? How do we have any hair there at all? I’m pretty sure 90% of my and Mr. Chick E’s hair is on my bathroom floor at any given moment. It’s so gross. So gross. I have to stop talking about it.
Last year we were going to re-do the master bath. We had saved a hefty sum and I had finally convinced Mr. Chick E to open up the purse strings. But instead we had to re-do our driveway. Every time I drive up or down that incredibly smooth, very expensive driveway I cry a little tear, thinking about what could have been. *sigh
Funny story, I was telling a guy I work with about having my driveway re-done and how much it cost and the following conversation happened:
- Him: “Wow you must have a huge driveway!”
- Me: “That’s what she said”
- Him: “Huh?”
- Me: “Nevermind. Yea, we do.”
- Him: “How long is it?”
- Me: (that’s what she said) “I don’t know, like 20 feet?”
- Him: (look of confusion on face) “You got completely ripped off then.”
After talking to him and describing how many cars I could fit in said driveway, turns out my driveway is probably 100 feet long. Maybe more. I don’t know. I’ve already forgotten and/or lost interest.
I digress. Instead of having a beautiful bathroom, I have a beautiful driveway. So…win-win. ?? Not win-win. Whatever.