Today I will be brief. One marvelous benefit of being geezerly is that people expect you to be blunt. So, without fear of being misunderstood, and without concern for hurting anyone’s feelings, I am asking those dwindling few who invite me into their homes to provide some type of air freshener in their bathroom. In addition, please put it somewhere that it can be seen.
Hiding a bottle of Febreze behind the towels in the linen closet helps no one, and without something of that nature readily available, I’m likely to be embarrassed on leaving the bathroom.
Really, it’s nothing more than common courtesy. You know everyone needs it. It’s part of who we are as humans; using toilet paper is also part of being civilized humans. And no one hides the toilet paper—it’s right there in every bathroom in the world, ready for use.
What are people thinking: “Golly, Phil—if we put toilet paper in the bathroom, what will people think we do in there?” We all know, and we all do it, and the aging do it a hell of a lot more often.
In conjunction with the paper, something to freshen up the air for the next visitor should, it seems to me, be mandatory. But somehow some people have the idea that the mere sight of a can of Glade in their bathroom will make guests think less of them: “My goodness, Frank—did you see that can of Apple Blossom Glade in Sally’s bathroom? And I always thought she was so … normal.
Here it is in a nutshell: Like you, your guests need toilet paper and air freshener. Please be kind and provide them. If you won’t do that much, then I’ll resort to a trick my parents used back in the days before Air Wick and Renuzit—I’ll light a match.
“You didn’t have any air freshener, Betsy, so I lit a match. Sorry about the curtains. They were so frilly, they just, like, exploded when I … well, maybe you should buy something flameproof next time. Or you could try Glade.”
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