My husband has always taken half an hour to go to the toilet.
When we first started going out, I assumed he had some kind of bowel condition, so I tactfully avoided talking about it. Eventually I realised that he just liked sitting in there reading.
After visiting his family, I realised that they all treated the toilet as a kind of reading room. Me, I grew up in a household with numerous children and one loo, so I learned to be in and out within a minute or so.
Why would I take a book into the toilet, anyway? It seems a bit unhygienic, and not exactly comfortable.
Before we had kids, it didn’t matter. So what if my husband spent half an hour in the toilet here and there? We had time for everything – lazy Saturday mornings reading the paper, leisurely afternoon pub crawls, movie marathons…
Then we had kids. It started to matter. Now that half an hour in the toilet really grates on me. As the minutes tick by, and I know he’s on the other side of the door, absorbed in some guide on how to prepare for a zombie apocalypse, I can feel my anger levels rising.
Let me explain. His typical Saturday morning goes like this. A bit of a sleep-in, because it is the weekend. Then he makes himself a coffee, and checks out Facebook. Then half an hour in the toilet. Then a long shower. By then he might be ready for the day.