Like the rest of humanity, prudes must on occasion address matters of indelicacy.
This is my powder room. It is on the main level of my house and gets frequent use because of its convenient proximity to daily activities.
The men in my family naturally don’t refer to this as a powder room. It has a toilet, which means it has everything. Powder is irrelevant and confusing. They are tactful enough to refer to it as a ‘bathroom’ around me as opposed to more descriptive or ribald terms, although they point out that there is no way to bathe in this bathroom. I call it a ‘restroom’ around them to short-cut their mockery of ‘powder room.’
Sometimes we have Company Coming. My conveniently placed little rest/powder/bath room now becomes the GUEST bath.
Again my family squabbles. ‘There’s no bathtub!”
They miss the whole point of euphemisms.
Before company comes I clean the Guest Bath.
I put in fresh towels.
It smells delightful.
Company is due to arrive any moment.
Then– – – disaster.
One of my family members chooses to use the guest bath. And they choose to use it, not to comb hair or wash dainty fingers,
but in a manner guaranteed to generate the ultimate in bathroom aromas.
And I don’t mean liberal doses of cherry scented hand lotion.
The family member emerges, relieved and smiling, from the Guest Bath to face an irate and scolding Me.
“We have two other bathrooms! You had to use that one? To do…THAT?”
“I sprayed the Glade stuff.”
“It didn’t help!”
“Here, let me light a match.”
Seconds later company walks in, sniffs discreetly, and wonders why we would be burning apple blossoms.
Maybe I could convince family to use one of these next time company comes.