I spend a lot of my time alone around the house.
My Captain is one of the hardest working men in the fire department, if his overtime sheet is any indication. And between school and spending time with their dad, Varmint and Critter are often gone as well.
So I get used to being alone, and doing things people do when no one is looking…like walking around in my underwear, singing in the shower, belching and farting anytime, and anywhere, and using the bathroom without closing the door. I most EMPHATICALLY do NOT drink milk right out of the container in the fridge…but only because I don’t like drinking milk. Otherwise, I probably would.
I’m into shortcuts, and I’m into keeping things real. Obviously I’m okay with a certain low level of polish and couth. And I’ve never had to worry about whether or not My Captain minds…because he often isn’t here to see me be so, well, casual. I do TRY to be a little more classy when my family is around. Whether or not I succeed is irrelevant…intent counts, right?
But lately, for some reason, my poor private habits have been spilling over into my social ones. And this isn’t good. For example, in the past two weeks, I’ve sat on the toilet without closing the door when My Captain IS home, and as luck would have it, he’ll pass by and see me. All I can do is smile sheepishly and hope my cuteness factor outweighs my disgusting factor.
I’m not sure why sitting on a toilet is so embarrassing. Everyone does it, everyone needs to do it, and everyone knows that everyone else needs to. But every stinkin’ time he catches me on the toilet, I feel like I’ve been caught with my hand in the cookie jar. (Really, Mama? THAT was the most appropriate analogy you could make? Weirdo.)
I keep wondering what he thinks when he catches me in such a position. He never says anything. He just shakes his head and grins at me. I don’t worry that he is judging me, though, because, let’s be honest here, he’s a firefighter. And he lives half of his life around other firefighters.
These are people who have races to see who can poop corn first after chili night.
So catching his beloved wife on the toilet from time to time is probably more endearing, than concerning.
At least, that’s what I tell myself.
(But we never have chili night at home, just to be on the safe side.)