O frabjous day! My computer is humming contentedly again. So, once more into the fray I go!
I have played hostess to many bored Goddesses in the past twelve years, especially feeling the presence of Queen Brighid the Bright. Still, Brighid never moved in the way Cloacina has. Possibly because I never had a spare room until recently.
I thought it would be difficult to converse with Cloacina, who is after all an ancient Roman deity, but by golly, that one year of Latin in high school has set everything on a smooth course! I've got the prefixes and suffixes and the root words, so we communicate very well indeed.
EXHIBIT A: CLOACINA -- ISN'T SHE BEAUTIFUL?
This is a Goddess I can get behind. My bathrooms have been spotless since She arrived.
Bear with me a moment while I post a photo:
EXHIBIT B: A PERFECTLY GOOD AND CHARMING HOUSE
This is the house across the street from my own. Isn't it charming? And those two beautiful oak trees. They warm a Druid's heart. You can't see it, but behind this house is a two-car garage with a one bedroom apartment over top. The house was built in 1923.
Some time ago, a developer bought this property. Very soon he will demolish this house and the garage. He planned to put two houses on the lot. Instead he's going to demolish everything, build one house, and try to sell the vacant side of the property for someone else to build a house. The oak trees will be chopped down, as will four mature trees along the property line off to the left and out of the photo.
Snobville's planning board gave him the hearty green light, of course. I went to the meeting. I don't know why I bothered to stand up and ask the board to vote the project down. It was a waste of breath.
There are no structural problems with this house (Cloacina prefers the word "domicile"). It needs some updates, but it has its original wood floors with the cute trim and a center hall staircase with carved banister. It has a finished basement, which means it has two small bathrooms and four bedrooms (if you count the room in the basement as a bedroom).
But hey, let's tear this old gem down and build something brand new and shoddy!
You know what I've noticed about modern day Americans? Everyone wants their own bathroom.
One of the things the greedy bastard developer is going to do in his shoddy new construction is provide each bedroom with its own bathroom. This is the rage these days. All you need to do is look at the multiple listings, and you'll see that newer homes all have restrooms everywhere, kind of like ballparks. Or hospitals. Or hotels.
EXHIBIT C: NOT THE END OF THE WORLD
My grandparents had one of these when I was growing up. It sure wasn't pleasant, I didn't linger in its confines, but it got the job done.
(Cloacina finds this appalling, but She's also dismayed at the modern home with its five-and-a-half bathrooms. How to keep them all shiny clean?)
I have to wonder about children being raised in homes where they have their own bathrooms. Talk about privilege! They're literally growing up without ever having to smell anyone else's stink. Call me gross if you like (Cloacina is again appalled), but I believe we should all get a little whiff of something unpleasant now and then. It keeps us grounded as mortals. It teaches us to love other people because they are mortal too.
The house being torn down once had seven people living in it. Seems like it's a fine size for a family like that. The house that will be built in its place will have three bedrooms and three-and-a-half baths, including -- of course -- a master bath.
The whole concept of "master bath" baffles me. Why does a bathroom need to be luxurious? Why have a bath tub so large it takes forever to fill, or a shower with granite tiles? No one spends more than 30 minutes in the tub or the shower. Forty-five minutes, tops. Why does that room need to be private and posh? Oh yes, I forgot. Privilege. How can I forget that I live in Snobville, where privilege flows through the streets like milk and honey?
Sadly, I don't think you've heard the last of this demolition/rebuilding project. It's right in my face, literally, and I can't do anything to stop it.
However, when the house goes up on the market, my Bernie sign will return to my front lawn. Let them know that workers live in my house. Workers, who share one restroom and a water closet.
Time for a bath ... just as soon as Mr. J is finished his shower.
All hail Cloacina!