Rolling Out of Bed

Another Tuesday, another set of truly fabulous Demystifying Divas posts.

The topic we've chosen for ourselves this week is pretty basic: the differences between men and women when they get ready to go in the morning. Talk about taking the differences between the sexes right down to base level. Heh. Should be interesting, no?

As most of you, my devoted Cake Eater Readers, will know, the husband and I have been married for ten years. We've lived together for a little bit longer than that. (Yeah, I know. Our bad.) During that time, we've lived in (counting on fingers) seven different apartments. Only two of which had big bathrooms, where we could both move around and get ready simultaneously. The apartment we live in now is most assuredly not one of these apartments. The bathroom here is the size of a postage stamp. If the bathroom door is shut, it's a crapshoot to open it: you might, quite literally, knock your spouse into unconsciousness. Whenever we see large bathrooms in our friends' houses or in a showcase, our envy erupts, like goosebumps on a Muscovite hooker in January. We both start lusting for a larger vanity, a huge bathtub, a bigger shower, and in the husband's case, a separate room for the toity. Some people have this response when it comes to kitchens, and we are not immune from that, either, but the bathroom is where it is at for us.

The reason for this envy is not only size-related, but also because I'm a slob and the husband is a neat freak who's constantly having to rein in the OCD. He wants a bigger bathroom so that he isn't forced to deal with my slovenly habits and somehow a double vanity will solve this problem, even though he hasn't listed out exactly how it will do so; he's just confident that it will. I want a bigger bathroom so I have more places to stash my excessive pile of appearance-related shit. In our current space, I have claimed the top of the counter, the space under the sink (the Q-tips reside there, so technically we're sharing), the bathroom cabinet (again, technically speaking, we're sharing because his shaving kit resides there), one side of the medicine cabinet and the top of the toity. The husband, God love him, gets one side of the medicine cabinet. But what's surprising is that's all he needs.

Now, given my need for extra space, you'd think I was someone who spent an excessive amount of time getting ready to go in the morning, wouldn't you? Well, I don't. Generally speaking, I can be in and out of the shower, hair done (well, it's a sopping wet mess, but I don't blow dry every day because it's bad for your hair, so it's as done as it's going to get unless I have a meeting and actually have to do it up), dressed, with minimal makeup in forty minutes or so. Pretty good for a chick, no? The husband, well, he does take less time to get ready, but that's because he doesn't wear makeup and never has to deal with a mascara wand that's bound and determined to spread black goo onto your face instead of your lashes. He just stands around in the shower, wondering about the world. I am seriously thankful we've never had to pay a water bill.

Fortunately for us, we do not have jobs that require us to leave the house every morning. We pretty much stay in our pajamas for as long as we can stand it. Then one of us will hop in the shower and the bathroom is our domain for that period of time. Working from home has saved us from many o' a fight about hogging the bathroom. The problems arise when we leave the house together, and I have to be fully made up with hair done.

The poor husband. It takes me a while to put on the full war paint. That means a couple of extra coats of mascara, eyeliner, and eyeshadow. That means full foundation and powder. That means the whole meal deal when it comes to lip liner and lipstick. And blush. We can't forget about the blush. Of course, while all of this is going on, I'm also running around trying to figure out what I'm going to wear and doing my hair. This takes, all told, about an hour and fifteen minutes. And I always think it's going to take less time than it does, hence the husband just stands there in the hallway, glowering, waiting for me to get my crap together, asking me every few minutes, "Are you ready to go yet?" To which I reply: "Yeah, just give me a second," because even if it's not going to take a just a second, and I know this, I have hope that maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to pull it together so he won't be annoyed with me.

Then I'll remember I have to switch out my handbag, so it matches my shoes and the ensemble I've chosen to wear.

Or that I've forgotten my belt, which is something you just cannot forget when you switch over to boot cut pants, otherwise you'll be flashing your ass crack to the world.

Or that I've forgotten to spritz myself with perfume because, after all, the husband bought me the stuff. He likes for me to wear it, so I'd better get with the freakin' program here.

(I can feel the disapproval from the male section of the audience already}

By this point in my rushing around, the husband is generally ready to lose it. He doesn't see why this should be so hard. After all, all he had to do was change his shirt, throw on a sportcoat, brush his hair and teeth. Why shouldn't I be the same, for crying out loud? It's not like I didn't know we had to leave the house at a particular point to get to our destination on time. I should be better organized. A bigger bathroom would spare him. He's sure of it.

I'm not so sure. Women just have more stuff to do in the bathroom than men do. What exactly does the husband do in the morning? He shaves, he showers, he washes his face and puts moisturizer on (and he wouldn't do the last two if he wasn't married to me). He then throws gel into his hair, brushes his teeth and---presto chango!---he's done. I have other stuff to do, like battling with mascara, which as any woman can tell you, takes time.

And you boys wouldn't like for us to look like garbage, would you? Because we would look like something the cat dragged in if we were ready to go when you wanted us to be. I know this for a fact.

Ok, that's not really going to fly, but that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Now go and read what the other Delicious DemystifyingDivas have written on the subject. Make sure you go and welcome Kate from Katespot, who is subbing for Chrissy this week while the Feisty One takes some time off from blogging. The Marvelous Men's Club has their own take as well.

Posted by Kathy at April 19, 2005 10:46 AM