My wife seems to spend an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom. Specifically, on the toilet. More specifically, firing off chocolate missiles. Lately, I have noticed that practically every time I need to use the bathroom, it is occupied. On the plus side, at least the seat is always warm, which is a nice bonus in winter.
When I first became aware of the present situation, I was concerned that my spouse was severely constipated or had chronic dysentery – or some improbable combination of the two. Subtle enquiries (“Sweetie, have you got the squirts?” [muffled cursing]) have revealed that she is at the peak of health and that her digestive tract functions like a well-oiled machine, thank you very much.
Look, I enjoy a good sojourn in the smallest of rooms like most people, but my dear wife has managed to turn this into an art form. It would appear that she’s evolved some sort of incremental release mechanism which allows her to make as many visits to the facilities as suits her fancy. I’m going to have to check the ‘Hobbies and Interests’ section of her CV to see whether she’s added ‘recreational defecation’ to the list.