Last night - Harry and I crossed a line.
We can never go back.
Our relationship has been forever - altered.
It happened suddenly and without warning - I had gone upstairs, leaving Harry to watch the end of "Four Rooms", an odd yet entertaining Tarantino film. I walked into our bedroom, opened the two doors that lead into the bathroom area and closed them behind me. I decided that a quick tinkle did not merit closing the additional door to the toilet area, so I sat down and was half-way done emptying my bladder when - the little doors were pushed open.
"Phoebe?" I ask. She likes to keep tabs on me at all times and often thrusts open the bathroom doors - leaving her eye gook stains as reminders that she was shut out of a place she rightfully belonged.
"Whatchadoin'?" Harry poked his head through the door and looked at me, perched and pigeon-toed, on the porcelain throne.
"I'm - I - uh - I'm PEEIN'!" I stutter.
We've been together six years - been married for three and he's never seen me go to the bathroom. I have always thought that couples who go full-frontal on each other when nature called took some of the mystery out of the relationship. I also held tight to my belief that even though we were dubbed "man and wife" - some things were still to be done alone. Away from prying eyes.
He giggled and backed out of the doorway.
I couldn't even finish. I just sat there with a shocked look on my face.
I eventually emerged and he was standing in the bedroom doorway, doubled over in laughter.
"You - you - YOU THOUGHT I WAS PHOEBE!" he barely spit out.
"Yes! I did! You weren't supposed to see me pee - EVER!" I lovingly beat him about the brow and back.
"I SAW YOU PEEEEE! I SAW YOU PEEEEE!"
And he wonders why I have a complex about it.
Why do men insist on following us into the bathroom? Is it a perverse desire to watch us urinate? Or is it just because we are in a state of undress and they may be able to see things we do not make readily available to be seen unless jewelry or an expensive dinner is presented?