You wash your face in my sink?

[venta]

The hand-towel in the kitchen used to live on a hook, which was behind you and across the room as you stood at the sink. When we decorated the kitchen, we took down the hook (or had it fallen off the wall by then? I forget) and the towel has been living on the chair. Behind you and across the room as you stand at the sink.

Last weekend we put up a towel rail. It's directly in front of you as you stand at the sink. Handy, you'd think. Convenient. Easily in reach if you've got wet hands.

Except actually, it isn't convenient at all. Every time I get my hands wet I turn round, walk across the room, realise with vague surprise that the towel isn't there, swear, and walk back to the sink to dry my hands.

Every. Last. Sodding. Time.

Not only am I not a hoopy frood, I don't even know where my towel is.

Unelatedly, where did this Fiction Family album on my shelves come from? I don't remember buying it. I don't know who they are. It's quite pleasant, but it's a total mystery.

Comments

[venta.livejournal.com]

Um, I live with my boyfriend, so I guess he's technically a housemate. I'm not quite following you with why that's important, though! (And he's not usually annoying, and we have both avoided the extra arms or extra heads.)

[sammason.livejournal.com]

Oops I didn't mean to be complicated. Sorry if I was rude. It's just that, reading your message without knowing whether or not you lived alone, I imagined poltergeists.

[venta.livejournal.com]

No, I didn't think you were rude, I'm just a bit hard of thinking on Sundays :)

There aren't any poltergeists. I moved the towel myself (from its "temporary" resting place to its nice, new towel-rail) but am now apparently incapable of remembering that I've done this. I habitually wander to where it used to be, instead of the staringly obviously, convenient place in which it now lives.

I thought after a week, I'd have learned!