Oftentimes I use the bathroom.
No no, it's true, it happens quite frequently.
But more often, I wait for the bathroom. And wait, and wait, and wait. Because we have one bathroom in this apartment. One bathroom for four girls. And many Saturdays (today, in fact!), I lazily open my eyes to the world and roll out of bed and do the dished for an hour (my roommates don't have hands, you see, so...), while one of them is in the shower.
And then, I go and grab my towel and clothes to go take my turn but...
The other is in the shower.
So I do homework for a little while, complain about it on my blog, when suddenly I hear the water stop.
I spring to my feet, towel and clothing in hand, when I hear..... the hair dryer.
For the next twenty minutes.
Now, all that springing-to-feet and disappointment has conjured up the smell that is wafting from poor, un-showered me, which is doubly disheartening because I believe it is growing stronger exponentially.
IF ONLY I COULD TAKE A SHOWER.
I shut my door in anger and return to my paper on the Shoshoni Indians, biding my time until I can wash the grime and grease out of my hair. Finally, after an unbelievable amount of hair-drying time, I decide to go scout out the bathroom situation. I cautiously open the door, peering down the hall into the bathroom.
THE DOOR IS OPEN!
I rush back into my room, grab my clothes and I'm home free! But just as my hand reaches the doorknob, MY TOWEL! I can't shower without a towel! I race back to my bedroom, grab the rogue towel, open the door just as--
I hear the water turn on as roommate number three begins to shower.
Sometimes.... I want my own place. Or at least my own bathroom. Or dreadlocks.