I think that, like most people, we kind of use our bathroom as an impromptu library. Well, staring at the walls can get boring, ya know? But, well, we won't get into the particulars. Anyway, Walter and I have something of a Cold War going on in the bathroom. We both bring in reading material, though his is pretty much a two foot stack of bodybuilding and 4x4 mags with the past few Fredericks of Hollywood catalogues stashed at the bottom. Mine tends to be a textbook or journal of some sort. There's room, he moves his library whenever we clean, so it's no big. At least not for him. Me? I'm paranoid about being in a bathroom with magazines that have people in them. There's pictures, you know? And they stare at you while you're doing your business. Once, Dennis Newman stared me down unblinkingly while I was brushing my teeth. To make matters worse, he was on the cover of Muscle & Fitness, so you can guess that he was wearing nothing but a brief pair of spandex trunks, a lot of body oil, and a smile. An almost naked guy that I don't know was watching me brush my teeth in the bathroom. I did the only thing anyone can do under those circumstances. I refused to go into that bathroom for two days. I now insiste on a completely Dennis Newman-free bathroom.
My current stand-off is with this Val Vasilef person. I've never met the man. I know very little about the man. He could be, for all I know, the muscle-bound reincarnation of Mother Theresa. I still hate him. Why? He's on the back cover of Ironman and he's been staring up from said back cover next to the commode for three weeks now. I have covered him with towels, left over Walter tee shirts, toilet paper, books ranging from a thirty pound history of math tome to one of those serial western paperback books. Every time I come back, he's there, smirking up at the next customer right next to the commode. I wasn't impressed with the "Russian Bear" when I first saw him smirking up from the dining room table years ago. I'm sorry, but "TV Action Commerical" isn't what I'd call resume-worthy for someone hawking his own, personal nutritional supplement. He's so friggin phony. He's wearing BDU britches, and a bandana. He smirks like my brother smirks (FYI, smirking like my brother is not sexy, I don't care what anyone else says. My brother is sexy just like a freshly mashed tarantula is sexy). Okay, and to make this all even worse, he's doing this right next to the toilet!
Argh! I'm so not stepping foot in that bathroom until I can think about it without shuddering.