So Ken and I are currently travelling across the Atlantic on a large boat, the Queen Mary 2 to be precise. We’re on our way to the UK to visit family with my parents. Currently, Ken is driving me crazy by suggesting things I can write (“tell them you hate jazz”) because he’s too cheap to pay for the wifi plan and he is bored. “God help you if you were ever locked in the bathroom with me,” he just opined. And yes, that would be horrible. Not because of Ken, who has stopped talking about his tendency to flatulate in small spaces when he realized I was writing everything he said down, but because the bathroom in our stateroom, while frustratingly typical in that the flush mechanism is BEHIND the toilet lid, forcing you to TOUCH the lid in order to flush the toilet, is extremely small and very strange. Here’s a photograph:
I’m not certain what the builders of this ship thought people would be doing in the bathroom but it’s set up like a weird bar. Not only is there the strange, prerequisite metal toilet paper cover that makes a perfect place to put your cocktail, but above that, there’s an ashtray, and mounted on the door, there’s a bottle opener. So what? I’m sitting on the can drinking beer and having a smoke, waiting for the disco to start in the shower? Ken has interrupted to remind me to tell you that “we met Seth”. Who is Seth? I have no idea. Apparently he works remotely and is doing a global cruise. Anyway, I’ve given Ken a ball of wool to bat around and amuse himself with while I finish this post in the theatre where we’re waiting for a show to start. The theatre, fortunately, is bigger than our bathroom but without the ashtrays, bottle openers, and potential disco dancing. Or Seth.