Or laughing your heads off at my miserable plight.
Only I won't be laughing with you.
Oh Lordy, I won't be laughing at all!
Now bear with me for a minute, and play along, okay?
What you need to do is stand up.
Put your hands on your hips, with your elbows sticking out.
Now pull those elbows forwards just a teensy bit.
Point those elbows as far forward as they'll go...
See what it feels like?
Do you feel the burn?
Okay, now sit back down.
Sit upright, and stretch your legs out in front of you.
Lift them a titch more, and make sure that you're pointing your toes.
Now put your hands back on your hips, making sure to pull those elbows forward until you feel the burn.
Now what is this all in aid of, you ask?
THAT my dear friends, is the size of my toilet.
Not my bathroom... the toilet room.
Elbow to elbow, and to the tip of my toes.
The room that is so damned small that there's barely enough room to store a small pack of toilet paper in, and when you do, it just has to sit there on the floor, taking up valuable foot space.
Or doubling as a foot rest.
What made me realize just how small the room is, is when I trusted a 2 and a half year old to "do it himself" when he had to go to the toilet and do a ermm. ...you know.
I learned not to trust, okay?
I learned the hard way.
That's all I'm sayin'.
Now what gets me, is that when this house was built in the early 1960's, it was probably a modern, new fangled idea to put the outhouse actually in the house... so you wouldn't have to traipse all the way down the yard, braving spiders and snakes, just to do your "business" anymore.
Oh, and you might as well throw in one of those new-fangled terlets as well, to keep my Ethel happy.
And those little half-moon cut outs they used to have in the door?
Placed there for air circulation?
Nah... we don't need one of them.
Because damn... you try cleaning it, while standing in one spot!