Next month we’re heading west to visit my brother-in-law and sister-in-law. We love spending time with them, so I’m looking forward to it, despite my usual anxiety over air travel and being so far from home. We’re staying at their place, and I’m grateful for their hospitality. Also, staying with relatives (when you genuinely like them) can be a way to get to know them better than just passing a few hours together at an event or dinner.
But just the other day, I started to wonder about our accommodations and if we’d have use of a private bathroom, close to our bedroom. This sounds like the whine of a high-maintenance (which I am) prima donna (which I don’t’ think I am), but this is the fact of our lives: We “older folks” spend a lot of time in the bathroom—with one or more nocturnal visits each. In my case, I spend a little too much time there in the daytime too, not the least of which is devoted to primping. I guess I could cut back on the primping for five days, but I’m not so sure about the other visits.
I remember a time, years ago, when I could adapt to almost any temporary living conditions. (This excludes outhouses and sleeping in the woods with bugs and critters.) I wasn’t adventurous, but I didn’t worry so much about the proximity of a bathroom. So it must be true that, as we age, we get set in our ways and less tolerant of being out of our natural habitat. I hate that. It reminds me of all the times I tsk-tsked over my elders’ stubbornness about such matters.
Update: In an e-mail yesterday, my sister-in-law assured me that we’ll have our own private bedroom and bathroom. I feel better now.
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